


Dark In My Imagination

by tricksterity



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: A little bit of sad but mostly boys trying to be happy, Disabled Character, Disabled Character of Color, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Fluff, Fuck off Grindelwald, Graves caring about Credence, Graves is a tough guy but also very gentle, Happy Ending, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Original Character Death(s), Physical Abuse, Slow Burn, characters with disabilities
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-09-03 10:34:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 47,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8709010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tricksterity/pseuds/tricksterity
Summary: Director Percival Graves of MACUSA is known for being a hardass. Someone who doesn't have time to deal with anyone's shit, who gets the job done, who is worthy of respect and will respect you in turn if you earn it. Someone who would protect his aurors and die for them if he needed to.He's not known for being soft, or emotional, or allowing himself to be vulnerable. And he's certainly never been known to fall in love.Well, it seems hell has frozen over - because Graves looks at Credence Barebone, a fragile yet unbroken thing, and feels his heart beat double time in his chest. --(aka Grindelwald can go fuck himself, Graves and Credence survive the film, and they heal together.)





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> This literally just happened because I love Credence, I love Graves, I want my boys to be happy after everything Grindelwald put them through and also Grindelgraves/Credence is just.... Not Good. It's abusive as hell and I just want them to be happy. 
> 
> This is gonna start before the movie, and will stretch into film events and speculation on what happens after. Because we've never seen the real Graves, I've put my own interpretation on how I think he is, and I love him a lot. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

 

_There’s something in the look you give, I can’t help myself I fall, I can’t help myself at all; there’s something in your touch when we kiss and I scream god forgive me please._

_\- Dark In My Imagination / Of Verona_

* * *

 

Graves knew that something like this was going to happen at some point, it was inevitable with someone like Tina Goldstein. She’d only been on the investigative team for a few months but as her mentor he knew she was headstrong, passionate in her convictions, and would bend the rules to do what she thought was right. It wasn’t a surprise to him, then, when she was dragged into MACUSA with a terrified but righteous expression on her face.

 

She had attacked a no-maj, the woman who ran the Second Salemers’ church, and though Tina was distraught to be demoted, she didn’t regret defending the boy from being harmed. Graves wouldn’t be able to ever tell her this, but he was proud of her, even if she had broken the law they’d all sworn to uphold. Conviction like that would take her far one day, just as his own conviction had gotten him to be the Director of M-Sec.

 

“Director Graves,” Tina murmured as she was escorted out past him, and he held up a hand to stop security from taking her out just yet. “I… the boy, his name is Credence. She beats him awfully, more than the others. Would you keep an eye on him? Please. He doesn’t deserve it. None of them do.”

 

Tina’s eyes were shining with tears but just as strong and stubborn as ever. Graves knew that if he didn’t promise her she would just end up sneaking about and making sure that boy was okay on her own, and that violation could get her thrown out of MACUSA entirely.

 

“I’ll think about it, Miss Goldstein,” was his reply. They’d worked together long enough for her to know what he meant, and she nodded gratefully as the team escorted her down to the Wand Registry Department. The sound of the door closing echoed throughout the room as they left, and Graves let out a frustrated sigh to the empty space. Tina had been his protegé, and now she was gone until she was able to prove herself again and show that she was able to follow the law to the letter.

 

Unable to concentrate on his work, Graves turned on the spot and apparated to a corner not far from the Second Salemers’ church. It was a ramshackle thing that looked entirely out of place amongst the no-majs' high-rising buildings on all sides of it. A young woman was ringing a bell in the doorway and children of all ages poured into the building, eager for food and shelter from the elements. Graves leaned up against a wall with his arms crossed, flicking his fingers in a spell to keep the chill wind from creeping through his clothing, and watched.

 

It was an hour until the last child had left the building, all of them clutching leaflets in their hands. Graves had seen them enough from when Tina had brought them in as evidence, knew the lies printed on them as well as the truth. Yes, wizards and witches did live amongst the no-majs, but a completely separate existence ensured that no-majs would not be brought to harm by their kind.

 

Grindelwald and his followers, however, had seemingly not gotten the memo. Graves’ brow furrowed as he stared at the church, pondering just how far the dark wizard was willing to go in his so called quest to subjugate the no-majs. He maintained that they should expose themselves and rule over them, but Graves knew that the no-majs would fight back. He had seen what they were capable of and one day Grindlewald was going to get what was coming for him. Hopefully Graves would be the one to deliver that justice.

 

His attention was brought back as a young man all but stumbled out of the church, clutching leaflets in his pale fingers. He was tall but held himself hunched over as if trying to shrink himself, make himself non-existent. He turned to look fearfully back to the woman – Mary Lou Barebone – who glared at him from the entrance of the church. Neither of them said anything, and the woman slammed the door shut, the boy jolting a little at the harsh sound so closely to him.

 

This must be the boy, Credence, that Tina was speaking about. Graves had seen enough in his time to recognise the same hypervigilance and perpetual fear in the boy that many Aurors succumbed to after a lifetime of working against dark wizards. The boy, who could be no older than perhaps eighteen or twenty, should not be the same as those who had spent their lives fighting as their friends died around them. Humans really were cruel creatures.

 

The boy turned from the church and started down the road, clad in only a thin suit to protect him from the wind, and Graves followed him. He wouldn’t approach the boy just yet, simply observe him and see what he did.

 

What he learned was disturbing yet not entirely what he expected. From what Tina had described, the boy was heavily abused and his home was more of a cult than a family. This was reflected in everything Credence did – the way he walked, the quiet way he talked, the constant bowing of his head, his hesitancy to do anything. And yet.

 

And yet.

 

The wind was cold and he wore next to nothing yet the boy was strong enough to stay outside. His mother’s eyes were not on him, he could have sought refuge in an alley or doorway, yet he stubbornly did his job better than if only fear powered him. He had an inner strength that competed fiercely with the terror that he had been raised with, something that interested Graves immensely.

 

Graves knew he had a protective streak a mile wide, knew that he had taken on Porpentina Goldstein when others argued she was not ready; took her on as his protegé because he saw potential in her that he wanted to bring out before she was destroyed by those around her. He saw the same thing in Credence Barebone. He wanted to protect the boy, nurture him, and allow him to flourish.

 

It wouldn’t happen on it’s own. Credence was far too terrified by his mother to ever even think of defying her, but perhaps given the right guidance this boy could become his own person.

 

Mind made up, Graves waited until Credence had returned safely home before he himself turned in for the night, wondering just how he could gain the boy’s trust without scaring him off.

 

* * *

 

The answer came to Graves the next day when he went to check that Tina was settling in okay in her new role at the Wand Registry Department.

 

“You didn’t obliviate the boy?” he ground out between his teeth, unable to believe the words that she was telling him. Tina stood strong-backed and proud as she normally did but she clenched her hands so tightly her knuckles were right. “You lied to the Obliviators?”

 

“I-I’m sorry, Director Graves, but I couldn’t let them take that memory away from Credence,” she stuttered. “That boy has been hurt his entire life. He deserves to remember the one time that somebody stood up for him. To remember that his mother isn’t all-powerful.”

 

Graves sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to remember how to breathe evenly. It wasn’t the first time Tina had pulled something like this – hell, all of them had at one point, it was an advantage given to them as Aurors – but she had broken the International Statute of Secrecy. Twice.

 

“Tina- _Miss Goldstein_ -“ Graves corrected, ignoring when her face fell at the unfamiliar title, “-are you telling me that you let a boy who lives in a church dedicated to exposing and eradicating our kind _remember that you attacked his mother_?”

 

Tina’s face fell and she struggled to form any coherent reply.

 

“But- I- I thought it would-“

 

“You didn’t _think_ , Tina, that’s the problem!” Graves hissed, voice low so it didn’t carry throughout the area. “How many time have I told you to assess a situation and use your head? To be objective? Did you think that perhaps the boy still loves his mother even though she hurts him? That perhaps to him he considers _that_ to be love? That he may be loyal to her?”

 

Tina’s lips firmly pressed together in the way they did when she struggled not to cry. It happened whenever he chastised her –he expected much from her because he knew she was capable of delivering, and she respected him most out of anyone.

 

“I- Mr. Graves-“ she stuttered, trying to gather her thoughts. Graves took pity on her (the way he _shouldn’t_ , dammit, he was her boss not her father) and approached her desk, putting his hands flat on it so he could lean over to her, looking her in the eye.

 

He took a deep breath before he spoke his next words. “Not everyone from an abusive family _wants_ to leave, Miss Goldstein,” he murmured. “Some of them know nothing else and would rather have the violent love of their family than the fear of the unknown. You should have obliviated the boy.”

 

Tina stared at him for a prolonged silence, her gaze swaying as she looked into one of his eyes and the other and back again, putting the puzzle pieces together of what he had just admitted to her – to something he’d only ever told Seraphina.

 

“You…” Tina breathed, unable to say it aloud.

 

He pulled away, rapping his knuckles on her desk. “I’ll keep an eye on him, Miss Goldstein, but if he is a liability I _will_ obliviate him,” he said. “Get back to work.”

 

He left the department, feeling Tina’s eyes on him every step of the way. He held his head high, long healed scars itching across his back, and damn well hoped that the boy wouldn’t have to be obliviated. He took his lunch break early and apparated to the same alleyway he was in the previous night, waiting until Mary Lou Barebone led her children out of the church and down the street, all of them clutching leaflets to their chests.

 

Graves followed, again, and took the opportunity provided to him when Ms Barebone ordered the children off in opposite directions to hand out flyers. She stood proud-backed and with a fire in her eye as she tried to grab the attention of any who passed her. The two daughters remained within her sight, but Credence disappeared around a corner, and so Graves approached him.

 

“Would you like to learn more about the New Salem Philanthropic Society?” Credence asked each passerby, the words slipping off his tongue so quietly they were barely heard, unable to look anyone in the eye unlike his mother whose stare challenged anyone who looked her way.

 

“I would,” Graves said, taking one of the familiar leaflets from the boy’s pale fingers. “What do you do?”

 

Credence didn’t look up at him, but swivelled his body to face Graves, eyes firmly on the ground. “We educate about the evil of witchcraft, sir, and how it is all around us.”

 

“I thought witches were just fairytales,” Graves drawled with a cocked brow.

 

“No, sir,” Credence replied, voice firming a little. “They are very much real.”

 

He studied the boy for a few seconds, the way his grip had tightened on his leaflets. “I would like to learn more about this,” Graves said. “Shall we move from the middle of the sidewalk to discuss it?”

 

Like a clockwork machine, Credence headed to an empty storefront that gave the illusion of privacy while the people of New York continued to make their hurried ways up and down the sidewalk. Graves leaned in a little closer to Credence and flicked his fingers to cast a _muffliato_ around the two of them to protect them from curious ears.

 

“Credence, isn’t it?” he asked, and this time the boy’s eyes did snap up to look at him. “My name is Percival Graves. I’m a friend of Tina’s.”

 

The boy’s eyelids fluttered in shock. “You mean- the witch who-“

 

“Yes,” Graves replied. “I understand that she removed your mother’s memory of the incident but not yours. Is that so?”

 

“Yes, sir,” Credence said, still staring at Graves in shock. “She- she told me that when I woke up nobody would remember and that she would come and see me. Is she okay?”

 

The boy seemed genuinely concerned for Tina, and Graves allowed the tension to fall from his shoulders that he wouldn’t have to obliviate him. “She’s fine, Credence,” he replied. “She won’t be able to see you though. By attacking your mother she broke our most important law. She was demoted and is now under surveillance. That’s why I’m here.”

 

“Oh,” the boy replied, breaking eye-contact and looking back down at the ground. He didn’t say anything else, and the boy was far too used to hiding his emotions to allow anything onto his face that would help Graves figure out what was going through his head.

 

“Credence,” he murmured, waiting patiently for the boy to look back up at him. “I’ll be keeping an eye out from now on.”

 

“To make sure I don’t tell Mother?” Credence asked.

 

“To make sure you’re okay,” Graves replied, barely stopping himself from reaching out to touch the boy. “Now you should get back before your mother decides to check on you.”

 

Credence blinked at him once and then bowed his head, heading back out onto the sidewalk with a quiet _yes sir_. Graves stepped out from under the awning and walked to the nearest alleyway, twisting on the spot to arrive just outside MACUSA.

 

He wouldn’t visit Tina again. He couldn’t coddle her after her royal fuck-up, she had to learn her lesson and struggle through her punishment. But for now he could do as she pleaded and make sure the boy was alright.

 

* * *

 

Graves checked up on Credence a few times a week. Never the same day, but always from the same place – apparating to the alley opposite the church before his lunch break, watching the interactions between Credence and his mother, watching the boy hand out flyers. He didn’t hide his presence from Credence, who would often peek at Graves from the corner of his eye, just to make sure he was there.

 

Graves wasn’t sure whether his presence comforted or terrified Credence, but he hoped it was the former. He tried to keep his visits subtle, but working in the department he did, people tended to be quite observant.

 

“It’s been noted that you’re spending quite a while on your lunch breaks these days, Percival,” Seraphina noted one day as she breezed into his office where he was pouring over maps of Grindelwald’s most recent attacks. “It’s causing quite the stir. The rumour mill is in full swing.”

 

“How many of them are betting on an affair?” he replied absently, trying desperately to see some sort of pattern in the attack locations. There was nothing that could predict Grindelwald’s trajectory other than he was beginning to head towards them – past the Western Soviet border now, closing in on the Americas.

 

“None of them,” Seraphina replied, conjuring up a cushy chair with an elegant flick of her wand. “You’d be surprised at how many of them consider you to be… out of everyone’s league. The underlings all but worship you, Percival.”

 

Graves grunted and took another sip of coffee, looking up at the President. “I’m just a man like everybody else, Seraphina. Though at times I wish I was more.”

 

Seraphina sighed and leaned forward. “You aren’t going to catch Grindelwald by staring at maps all day. There isn’t much we can do from here, not until he steps foot on our soil,” she said in that calm tone she used to quiet down a frazzled Congress. “You have other priorities.”

 

“I know,” Graves sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and leaning back in his chair. “But I know he’s coming here, Seraphina. After the UK we are the most influential wizarding community in the world. I need to know.”

 

“What you need is to _relax_ ,” Seraphina all but ordered. “You’ve been worked up more than usual since Miss Goldstein was demoted during the fiasco with that no-maj church. I thought that maybe having longer breaks would help you but you seem more tense than ever.”

 

Graves stared her down from above the fingers at his brow, knowing that he had no hope of staying silent in the wake of Seraphina Picquery’s patient but penetrating gaze. She was like bedrock – solid, always there, unmoved by any of the elements, waiting anything out. She could certainly wait him out.

 

He sighed again – he was doing that a lot recently – and gulped down the last of his coffee. “I’ve been keeping an eye on the no-maj boy from the church, the one that Tina was defending,” he admitted.

 

There was a long silence as the wheels turned in her head. “Oh,” is what she ended up saying.

 

“Yeah,” he grumbled, sinking back into his chair. He could almost feel the hard wood re-awakening decades old wounds.

 

“I didn’t even consider how the situation would affect you, Percival, I apologise,” Seraphina began, but Graves held up a hand to stop her before she could keep going.

 

“I don’t expect you to consider every angle of everything you do or that happens, Seraphina,” Graves said, unable to help the wry smile that crept onto his face. It seemed even the best of them was flawed. “I’m okay, I can handle it. I just… want to make sure that the boy is alright.”

 

“And if he isn’t?” she asked. “It isn’t your place to interfere, Percival, just as it wasn’t Miss Goldstein’s place. Can you stay objective when it comes to him? To his mother?”

 

Graves’ jaw tightened as he clenched his teeth a little at her words. Already he felt the itch to take Credence in his arms and protect him from the elements and from his mother. The itch that had served him well during his time in Magical Security just as much as it had hindered him on many an investigation.

 

Graves fixed Seraphina with a stare almost as good as her own. “I know the laws, Seraphina,” he replied.

 

“That’s not an answer, Percival,” she replied with a sigh, but swiftly stood anyway, the elegant folds of her silk dress swaying about her ankles. “Please remember that you aren’t alone anymore. If you need to talk, my door is always open.” She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, squeezed gently, and then whirled out of the room just as gracefully as she had entered. Graves watched her go, wondering where the hell he’d be without her.

 

He abruptly shoved the maps away from him, some of the parchment flying off the edge of his desk and fluttering to the ground. She was right. There wasn’t anything he could do from a continent away, but it was unbearable to watch Grindelwald get closer and closer by the week, knowing that at some point the wizard would make the jump across the Pacific and enter their borders. After all, this was the only direction Grindelwald would dare travel in – Graves liked to think that they were powerful, but MACUSA held nothing on the North African Assembly and the numbers and power they wielded. Even someone as powerful as Grindelwald wouldn’t dare step a foot on that continent.

 

It took Graves a few moments to breathe deeply, in and out, letting the restless itch beneath his skin die down. There were other assignments he was overseeing, and he had more work to be doing. Once he felt calm enough, Graves headed down to the M-Sec offices.

 

“Devaney, any news?” he asked, striding into the main office. It was more of an appropriated library, two storeys of walls filled with books on anything imaginable that could help in their cases. Desks were scattered about the ground floor, with comfortable chairs up on the mezzanine, and a large table the aurors used to plan their strategies took up space in the middle of the room. Finlay Devaney was heading up the task force that were attempting to dissuade or capture any Grindelwald fanatics. Kira Fujiyoshi, the third-in-command, had replaced Tina as the head of the Second Salemers’ task force.

 

“Couple mutterings on the East Coast, and obviously things are heating up a bit down South,” Devaney answered, “but it looks like the last group we broke up haven’t reformed.”

 

“South?” Graves asked, looking over the information laid out on the table. “Tell me it’s not those Followers of Darkness morons again.”

 

Devaney snorted and pushed a photo over to Graves, showing some hooded wizards entering a Southern diner. “Unfortunately, sir,” he sighed. “I don’t think they’re any real threat, they’re still a lot of talk but no action.”

 

“They’re probably just doing it to feel like a part of something,” Fujiyoshi mused, scribbling something onto a piece of parchment. “Idiots like that can spend hours convincing themselves that they’re going to do something but they actually just want to vent with like-minded people. Shouldn’t be much of a threat, but with Grindelwald you just don’t know. He can inspire some pretty crazy things. L’s surveilling them now.”

 

At that point Lizzie Locklear flooed into the room in disarray, her usually perfect double braids half falling out.

 

“So,” she began, tracking ash behind her. “Looks like the Followers of Darkness might actually be mobilising. They seem to be planning some sort of attack on local no-majs.”

 

“Shit,” Graves sighed. “L, take Kira and a few of the others with you to give them a good speaking-to. Arrest them if you have to on conspiracy charges, just make sure they don’t do anything stupid.”

 

Locklear saluted him and locked arms with her wife, sending off a few summons to the rest of their team within the building. It took two hours for the team to return with multiple rowdy Grindelwald followers in tow, and it was nine p.m. before Graves managed to actually sort the entire situation out and leave for the day. Equally wired and exhausted, Graves instead apparated to the alley opposite the Second Salemers’ church instead of heading home for the night.

 

Why had he come here when they had all turned in for the night? There was nothing to do except just watch a darkened, out-of-place building. Graves toyed with the idea of casting a disillusionment charm on himself and entering the church, getting a closer to look at everything that was happening. Seeing how much of the situation was familiar.

 

Instead he stayed outside, leaning up against the brick, pondering over Seraphina’s words. Graves had visited here quite a few times by now, and each time he found himself unable to take his eyes off Credence. The young man who was too terrified to leave his home even though he was old enough to in the eyes of no-maj law. But leaving meant venturing into the unknown, leaving everything behind, starting out with nothing. A thought more terrifying than of being hurt.

 

Then the church doors swung open and Credence all but tumbled out, barely able to keep himself upright, hands curled up slightly and pulled in close to his chest. Graves couldn’t hear what his mother hissed at him from so far away, but he saw righteous hatred in her eyes as she slammed the door once again on her son. Credence backed away and looked up to the second floor of the church where his sister – not the young one, another – stared down at him with the same expression his mother had. She tugged the curtains across the window, blocking him out as well.

 

Shuddering, Credence began to walk down the darkened footpath. It spoke of experience in this situation that he didn’t stay back and wait to see if his mother let him in again. Credence had every opportunity to leave tonight and never come back, but he would be waiting on the front steps in the morning, Graves was sure of it.

 

He waited until the boy had turned the corner, out of sight of the church, before he approached him. Credence was blinking back tears, and the awkward way he held his hands in front of him spoke of injury.

 

“Credence?” Graves asked, voice quiet on the silent street.

 

“Mr. Graves?” the boy replied, stopping to look up at him with a slightly incredulous expression. Graves just gently led the boy into what could barely be called an alley, getting him off the street and out of the harsh tug of the wind.

 

“What happened?” Graves asked, looking down at the top of Credence’s head. Despite the fact that the boy was the same height as himself, Credence always seemed to be smaller, ducking his head and hunching his shoulders and doing everything in his power to remain unobtrusive and hidden. “Let me see.”

 

Shaking, Credence unfolded his hands and held them out for Graves’ perusal. His hands trembled uncontrollably, probably stinging relentlessly from the sharp autumn winds. All across his fingers, palms and wrists shone bloody red welts, some having sliced through the skin and others bruised and raised. They were even and straight enough that they couldn’t have come from anything but a belt. Holding back the anger that threatened to break free from inside him, Graves exhaled as much of it as he could, bringing forward the calm temperament that made him Director.

 

As gently as possible, not even really touching the boy, he reached out to buoy the bottom of his wrists so he wouldn’t struggle so much with the weight of his hands.

 

“Do you trust me, Credence?” he murmured, voice low and all but silent in the alley.

 

“Sir?”

 

Graves took half a step forward. “Will you let me heal you with magic?” he asked, and Credence looked up to him incredulously, dark eyes wide with wonder and slight terror. “I promise it will not hurt.” Credence didn’t reply, and Graves waited calmly until the boy gave a small nod before he looked back down to his hands.

 

It had been a very long time since Graves had needed to speak aloud to perform any magic, but he did so for the boy’s comfort, knowing what was happening. He murmured the spells in the boy’s ear as he held a hand over Credence’s upturned palms, first cleaning away the blood that was beading to the surface and then another spell to soothe the stinging, throbbing and burning. Credence all but sagged at the relief of pain, and watched in wide-eyed wonder as Graves finally murmured the spell to heal his wounds.

 

“ _Vulnera sanentur,_ ” Graves whispered, watching the wounds knit back together and flatten back down from where they had been raw, angry and red. With the first pass of the spell the wounds looked a few days old, still new but no longer so fresh. Another pass of the spell would have fixed them entirely save for some light scarring, but Graves had the feeling that healing them entirely would have brought Mary Lou Barebone’s curiosity sniffing.

 

Credence turned his hands over this way and that, inspecting the difference and clenching his knuckles to feel the pain response, which would be almost negligible but for a slight twinge. It would be unpleasant to hold anything in his hands for a few days and soap would probably sting them still, but they were no longer open to the elements. It was the best Graves was willing to do with someone as observant as Credence’s mother about.

 

“How does that feel?” Graves asked, resisting the urge to place a hand on the boy’s back, to deliver him comfort. It was likely that he didn’t associate anything good with touch, and unless the boy wanted to initiate it, Graves would hold back.

 

“I…” Credence breathed, folding his hands into fists to feel the full extent of the healing. “Much better. Thank you, Mr. Graves.” He said it with such gratefulness and wonder, like he didn’t quite believe what had happened and that he was worth being healed. It pulled at something in Graves’ chest, tugging at his heart.

 

He bent down until he could make eye contact with Credence, then straightened his spine with the boy’s gaze following him until he was looking at Graves, no longer bowing his head.

 

“I want to tell you something, Credence, that someone long ago told me,” he began. “And I know that at first it just seems like words and they are all but impossible to take in, but I would like you to listen.” Credence nodded, looking like he was hanging onto the word of God.

 

“You are a good person, and you are not responsible for what your family chooses to do to you,” Graves said, the words in his mind being said by a familiar voice. “It is not your actions that cause the pain, but _their_ response to it. You and your actions are not to blame, and their reaction is not normal, and it is not something you deserve.”

 

The boy shuddered as though the words were physical pain and looked away so suddenly it gave Graves whiplash. He would reject the words at first, most likely, and just those on their own wouldn’t magically solve the problem though Graves wished it were possible. But with enough time and effort, hopefully the boy would one day believe him, that he truly knew that he didn’t deserve what his mother chose to do to him.

 

“Credence,” Graves said, bringing the boy out of whatever internal spiral of denial he’d thrown himself into. “Are you expected to stay out here all night?”

 

It took the boy a few moments to reply. “Sometimes,” he said. “Mr. Martell runs a bakery a few stores down and lets me stay inside.”

 

Satisfied the boy would have somewhere warm and dry to stay for the night, Graves took a step away. “Take care of yourself tonight. The temperatures are dropping,” he said.

 

“Thank you, sir,” Credence whispered, his voice nearly having given out on him. Graves motioned for the boy to step out of the alley, and didn’t apparate to his home until he was sure that Credence had been let inside the back room of the bakery.

 

He poured himself a finger of firewhisky and threw his coat down onto his sofa, running a hand through his hair. So much for not getting attached.

 

* * *

 


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, this is an amazing Credence song: [Letting It Out - Openside](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Eyu_17r5po)

* * *

 

It was another few days before Mary Lou Barebone began to deliver sermons around the city, her three children standing by her side. It was lucky that Grindelwald seemed to still be within the Soviet Union, or there may have been more people to listen to her words. As it was, the only people who seemed to really pay attention to her passionate and righteous deliveries were the homeless in need of entertainment, no-majs susceptible to conspiracy theory, and wryly amused wizards and witches on their way to work.

 

Graves and Fujiyoshi attended one just outside a small no-maj bank in lower Manhattan, taking note of what she said. Kira was trying incredibly hard not to laugh, and Graves was forced to pinch her side whenever her lips began to twitch. It gave him time to study the rest of the Barebone family.

 

Mary Lou, of course, was the foundation and pillar of the family, their guiding force. There was no husband, just her three children – all adopted, as none of them shared similar features. Alongside Credence – dark haired and pale – stood his two sisters, the eldest with the same expression as her mother and strawberry blonde hair in perfect curls, the youngest looking bored with honey-blonde hair pulled into a tight braid-bun at the back of her head. All three women wore loose-fitting garments, proper and prim, and Credence wore the same suit as always with a brimmed hat.

 

He caught Graves’ eye once at the sermon and hadn’t looked his way since.

 

“I can see why Tina attacked her,” Fujiyoshi murmured into Graves’ ear. “She’s annoying. And rude.”

 

“And beats her children,” Graves replied straight back, eyes focused on the barely-there red welts around the youngest’s wrists that were mostly covered by her dress. There wasn’t any sign of hurt on the eldest daughter, but judging by how she seemed to be a mirror image of her mother, Graves doubted that would be the case. Tina was right – Credence did get the worst of it.

 

Graves and Fujiyoshi stayed just long enough to get an understanding of what Ms Barebone was preaching, but not long enough for her to remember their faces. Graves nodded at Credence before they left. He took an early lunch break, as was the norm by now, and beckoned the boy over from where he was once again handing out leaflets. It seemed that was what they spent most of their days doing – who knew what Ms Barebone took care of back at the church. Credence double checked that none of his family members were in view before he crossed the road and entered the alley Graves was waiting in.

 

“How are you feeling?” he asked, having been unable to check up on Credence since he’d healed the boys hands. The Followers of Darkness were kicking up a storm in custody and it was taking most of Graves’ energy and time to deal with them.

 

Credence’s lips turned up into a smile that was almost non-existent, and something grasped Graves painfully by the sternum at it. “Good,” Credence replied. “No more pain, Mr. Graves. Thank you.”

 

“You’re welcome, my boy,” Graves replied. “I have a question to ask.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“What _do_ you do all day?” he asked, and Credence looked a little incredulous. “I’ve seen you hand out leaflets, stand at sermons and beckon children into the church. Do you… have a job?”

 

Credence shook his head. “Mother says that working for ourselves and not for the church will tempt us away from God,” he replied matter-of-factly. “Chastity mends and sews and I clean the house. The rest of the time we do as you said or read scripture.” So Mary Lou Barebone was adept at keeping her children close to home where they would not encounter any differing viewpoints to her own, keeping them prisoner and entirely dependent on her. They would grow up with little skills to exploit in the workplace, and would have no opportunity to leave and do so.

 

“I see,” he replied. Grindelwald’s latest attack had been only miles away from the shores of the Bering Sea – Graves was sure that he would make landing on their continent within the next month. Security had been increased all around the borders at apparition stations, floo connections and portkey locations, as well as aurors stationed at no-maj ports on the off chance that Grindelwald was willing to sink to their level to enter the country. Hopefully they could catch the man before he arrived, ready to wreak havoc on another continent.

 

Graves reached into his pocket and worked a quick few spells on a sickle he had within, and then held out the coin to Credence, transfiguring it into no-maj currency – the lowest denomination, so that it would not concern Mary Lou Barebone if she found it.

 

“I’m going to be very busy from now on,” Graves said to the boy. “Things are… escalating at my workplace, and my visits are not going to be as regular as they have been. This coin will alert me if you wish to contact me, simply rub over the face with your thumb and think of me, and I will arrive as soon as I am able. If your mother hurts you again, if it’s bad… please, do not hesitate to call for me.”

 

“But- I-“ Credence stuttered, unable to string his thoughts into a sentence.

 

“Regardless of how it happens or whose fault you think it is or how much you think you deserve it, if you hurt, Credence, I will take that pain away for you,” Graves said, looking into the boy’s eyes. “Because I want to.”

 

In response, the boy was only able to stutter out a quiet and wondrous _thank you_. Graves barely held himself back from clapping the boy on the shoulder, and Credence left the alley and went back to handing out his leaflets.

 

The next day just as Graves was about to take his break, Devaney came skidding out of nowhere, sliding across MACUSA’s marble floors, and almost collided with him.

 

“Sir!” he breathed, entirely out of breath. “There’s been an altercation on the Soviet border, Bering Sea side. Twenty-three dead in a massive wave of magic, the only survivor an eight-year-old girl who said she saw a blonde man create a portkey and disappear.”

 

Graves nearly dropped his coffee cup on the floor and turned to Devaney, glad that the man had kept his voice from echoing about the busy area. “How long ago was this?”

 

“I came to you as soon as we heard but it took about three hours for the message to get from there to here,” Devaney said, running a hand through his dark curls, hands shaking slightly with adrenalin.

 

“Do we know what the portkey was?” Graves asked, dumping his coffee and whirling straight around to head back to the M-Sec department. “Any description from the girl?”

 

Devaney shook his head, pulling out some parchments and flipping through them. “She didn’t get a clear description, sir, said he just pulled something out of the rubble of his destruction, it glowed blue, and then he touched it and disappeared. Her parents were murdered right in front of her, I doubt she was paying much attention,” he said, voice thick with emotion. Graves exhaled heavily, restraining himself from yelling in anger, and pinched the bridge of his nose. They swept into the auror offices which were more filled with energy and panic than they had been in years. The only people who seemed to be calm were Fujiyoshi and L.

 

“ _Quiet!_ ” Graves yelled, voice filling every single crevice of the room. At the sound, everyone froze and turned to him in the middle of whatever they were doing. “We are aurors, and we do _not_ panic. Devaney, I want you to set up a team to portkey over to the Bering crossing and try and retrieve the memory from the girl for closer inspection, see if there are any details we need. Make sure you take Mikhailov with you, we’ll need a translator.” Devaney nodded and pointed to Mikhailov and a few more of the team, all of them rushing over to the fireplace. Times like these Graves wished apparation in and out of MACUSA was possible.

 

“Right, L, I want you to take a team of trackers to the Alaskan border and see if you can track down the portkey or see if there are any signs where Grindelwald came to. If he took an unregistered portkey that means he won’t have appeared at a sanctioned portkey site,” he said. “Has someone informed border security?”

 

“Yes, sir!”

 

“Alright… we need to be on high alert, send out an APB to any and all authority in the area including no-maj authorities, tell them that he’s armed and incredibly dangerous,” Graves ordered, mind whirling. “There is no doubt at this point that Grindelwald has entered the United States. The Bering border, as you all know, is the only point close enough from which one can enter America from Europe.” He took a second to breathe, to calculate everything he’d have to from this point on. As head of Magical Security, he was the last and only line of defense for the country.

 

“Make sure that the rest of you are checking with your contacts to see if there have been any sightings or incidents since he made land, and make sure to co-ordinate everyone in the Soviet and in Alaska,” he said, turning to leave the room. “I have to inform the President.”

 

Graves didn’t have to run to get anywhere quickly, even in a place as busy and crowded as MACUSA. His stride was strong and confident, his coat whipping about his legs, wizards and witches simply moving out of his way. He reached the Oval Office within minutes, where Seraphina was in talks with some state senators.

 

“Madame President, we have a situation,” Graves informed her calmly. The tone of his voice was all she needed to know exactly what had happened.

 

“How long ago?” she asked, ignoring the confused expressions on the senators’ faces.

 

“Approximately three hours ago,” Graves replied. “We have aurors on both borders looking into the situation and the no-maj authorities have been alerted. There is no doubt, now, that he’s here.”

 

One of the senators turned to look at Graves, knowing damn well who he was, but demanding respect anyway as all politicians did. “And who is so important to interrupt our meeting?” he sneered.

 

Graves’ false smile was sweet enough to make milk curdle. “Oh, no one important, Senator Hopkirk,” he replied. “Only Grindelwald.”

 

With his point made and the senator left terrified and spluttering, he headed back to the auror offices, wondering just how the hell they were supposed to catch the most powerful dark wizard of all goddamn time.

 

They kept the situation as quiet as possible, only between aurors and border security, not wanting to panic the people until they had some solid evidence and a way forward. Graves was sure that Seraphina would be able to keep those two senators quiet for long enough, she was entirely intimidating when she wanted to be, and Graves refused to turn in for the night until they had something to go on. It didn’t take long for Devaney and Mikhailovich’s team to return from the Soviet Union with the traumatised young girl’s memory of the incident – they’d always been on good terms with their border team despite the no-majs' antagonistic relationship with their European counterpart.

 

Memory analysts did their best to figure out the situation through the girl’s memory, but after they watched the girl’s parents die in horrifically clear detail, the memory became rather faded and blurred. They saw a blonde man, clearly Grindelwald despite the memory’s quality, levitate something from the rubble. While the analysts paused the memory there, trying their best to figure out what the porkey was, Graves focused on Grindelwald.

 

It was a view of him from the back, just dark robes and slicked back blonde hair. It had been long and shoulder-length in the man’s youth, but he’d cut it not long after he’d started attacking wizards and no-majs alike. Graves had spent days, _weeks_ , pouring over every scrap of information they had on Grindelwald in the hopes of figuring out a weakness of his. He knew everything there was to know about the man without _being_ Grindelwald himself.

 

“Wait,” he said, noticing something so subtle but potentially crucial in their fight against him. “Get me a better angle of his wand.” The memory technicians looked entirely confused at the request.

 

“Just do it!” he ordered, and the analysts complied. The best angle they could get from the memory wasn’t amazing, but it was enough to satisfy Graves’ hunch. Grindelwald’s wand, which had been noted in many photos of himself as a Durmstrang youth, had been approximately thirteen inches of clean and sleek walnut wood. This one that he held in his hands looked absolutely nothing like his own – closer to fifteen inches, and had a strange uneven appearance, like stones were embedded periodically beneath the wood.

 

That could potentially explain the sudden change in Grindelwald’s magic – Graves wasn’t sure how, but his gut was telling him that his theory was correct. “Grindelwald has a new wand,” he breathed. Back in the auror offices, he assigned looking into this new wand to Ngahere, who took the assignment with a confused brow but respected Graves’ authority enough to not question it.

 

“Anything from L?” he asked Fujiyoshi, who carried a two-way communication mirror with her wife at all times, which could come in very useful in the field.

 

“Not yet, sir,” she sighed. “It’s a lot of ground to cover, even if he could only be a maximum of five miles inland, there’s still a ton of coastline.”

 

“I know,” Graves replied, squeezing her shoulder. “As soon as I get word back from the memory analysis team I’ll head over there to join in the search. With everyone assigned, there isn’t much co-ordination I can do from here anymore. Let me know the second L finds something.” An hour later found Graves in Alaska with L’s team, who had found a discarded hat with the Soviet Magical Security logo on it.

 

“Very subtle,” L grimaced, levitating the hat into a bag to take as evidence. After finding the hat they didn’t really need to test to see if it was a portkey, considering how out-of-place it was. They tested it anyway, and the telltale blue glow confirmed that Grindelwald was on American soil. “What a dickhead.”

 

Graves shook his head at her, holding back a smile. “That’s one way to put it,” he said, looking out at the Bering Strait, and then the forests and mountain ranges behind him. He was standing where Gellert Grindelwald stood not hours before, planning Merlin knew what for this country. The man would likely begin his terror attacks soon, amass followers and threaten to break the Statute of Secrecy. MACUSA employees had to live every day in the shadow of Salem, only a single state over, and Graves shuddered to think what would happen if people like Mary Lou Barebone started to garner more attention and influence because of Grindelwald.

 

“Can you track him?” Graves asked L, who had been passed down Native magic from her family, magic that was far more connected and in tune to the land than people like him knew. Magic that was, unfortunately, dying out.

 

L’s mouth twisted in annoyance. “Nope,” she said. “He literally took about ten steps and then disapparated. He could be anywhere by now, and considering his magical ability, he could be in Canada by now.” Graves had long ago gotten rid of the urge to hit something when a situation went seriously wrong, but his fingers twitched at the news.

 

“Then there isn’t much we can do but keep an eye out and wait for his next move,” Graves announced solemnly. “Get your networks up and running, I want to be informed within a minute of any sightings of him.”

 

“Yes, sir,” the aurors and security wizards chorused.

 

* * *

 

It only took three days for the news to get out at MACUSA that Grindelwald had arrived in the United States. As quiet as they’d kept it as not to terrify the community until they had something to go on, someone had leaked it. As soon as Seraphina got wind of it she issued a press statement to the _New York Ghost_ like she’d been planning it the entire time.

 

Graves was bombarded with messages that he routinely ignored unless they were from another MACUSA department, and tried to keep on top of the veritable storm of panic that had taken over the entire damn Congress. Everyone on every level, from secretaries to senators, were entirely freaking out – all because Grindelwald was in the country, and M-Sec had nothing. Exactly what they were trying to avoid.

 

As Director, Graves was pulling fifteen hour days minimum trying to assuage the public and trying to track down every single lead on Grindelwald, even if the lead was an anonymous tip of a suspicious-looking blonde man and nothing else. He barely had any time to think of anything else, and he’d just poured himself another coffee with absolutely no idea what the time was, when something in his pocket heated up.

 

He pulled out a charmed sickle, a pair to the one he’d given Credence, feeling it burn in his palm. The boy needed him.

 

Graves placed his coffee as calmly onto a nearby desk as possible, let Devaney know that he was going to follow a lead, and left the building as quickly as he could, disapparating as soon as he passed the borders of the building.

 

Apparating straight to the boy’s side, trusting that he wouldn’t call for Graves unless he was alone, it took Graves a few seconds to figure out what the hell was going on. They were in the alley opposite the church, it was dark without street lamps to light up the area, and Credence was little more that a figure curled up on the ground, clutching the coin to him like a lifeline.

 

He was sobbing silently, so hard his body shook with it, the way that made one’s throat burn and chest heave with the force of keeping it in, not letting anyone hear.

 

“Credence,” he whispered, bending down to get closer to the boy. He flinched at the sound of his name, and didn’t seem to recognise his surroundings at all. Graves called his name again to no response, and so with great hesitation he reached out and brushed his fingertips against the boy’s arm. Credence jolted with his whole body, limbs windmilling madly as he fought to get away from him.

 

“Credence! It’s okay, it’s me, it’s Graves,” he said, voice firm but tone soft. “It’s alright, I’m here because you summoned me with the coin, remember? The one in your hand. You’re safe now. You’re safe.”

 

He looked up with wide, wet eyes that were red-rimmed and bloodshot. His hands seemed to be fine, and he was clad only in his pants and shirt, no jacket to be seen. He was shaking and looking at Graves like he was an apparition, a ghost that wasn’t quite there. Hoping his smile was more comforting than frightening (for it had been a while), Graves held out his hand palm-up towards the boy, waiting calmly as Credence assessed the situation with the terror and self-preservation instincts all abused children had in abundance.

 

He reached out a shaking hand, pale fingers stretching out in the dark, and grabbed Graves’ hand. It took him a second to realise that the touch didn’t hurt – was nothing but that, _touch_ – and he fell apart entirely. Graves couldn’t help but pull the boy into his arms, kneeling in the filthy alleyway with a terrified, sobbing Credence, shoulder and shirt collar becoming soaked through.

 

“It’s alright, my boy, it’s okay, you’re safe, you’re safe,” Graves continued to repeat, grasping him by the nape of his neck, pressing Credence’s face into his shoulder and letting him know that it was okay to cry. Graves didn’t dare touch Credence’s back, for he could see the crimson stains spreading out through the thin white fabric in lines. It made his own scars itch.

 

Fingers curled hesitantly into Graves’ jacket and he just pressed his lips to Credence’s hair. With a whispered warning, Graves pulled out his wand and passed it down Credence’s back, murmuring healing spells into the boy’s hair, feeling him relax and all but slump his entire weight onto Graves as the wounds knitted up and the pain disappeared. With the cause of his agony gone, Graves was able to wrap his arm around Credence’s waist and pull the boy fully to him, Credence’s fingers tightening on his jacket.

 

“I’m sorry…” Credence muttered, barely audible even so close to Graves. Heart tugging painfully, Graves shook his head and propped his chin atop Credence’s head.

 

“It’s alright,” he replied, “let it all out, Credence. It’s okay.”

 

It was maybe ten minutes before Credence had calmed down enough to begin to pull away, and something in Graves didn’t want him to. He saw much of his own childhood in the boy, and wanted to take him away from the situation entirely and protect him.

 

(And perhaps it wouldn’t be illegal for him to do so, because in holding the boy so close he felt a very small, almost invisible spark of magic deep within him – a squib, most likely, but magical enough to be a part of their community.)

 

Credence mumbled half-gibberish apologies into Graves’ skin, and he just ran a comforting hand up and down Credence’s healed spine. “No need for apologies, Credence, you are very brave and incredibly strong,” he said. “You shouldn’t go through this on your own and I’m very glad you called me.” Credence finally pulled away from Graves and looked down at the ground, eyes even more red than before, but he looked much calmer, more stable, no longer a seething mass of fear and anguish. Graves couldn’t help but bring a hand to his jawline, and Credence closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, breathing deep and even.

 

“Would you like to see some more magic, Credence?” Graves suddenly asked, unsure whether this was a good idea or not.

 

“Yes, please,” the boy breathed in response. Helping him to his feet, Graves kept a grip on Credence’s arm and made sure no one could see them (not that there was anyone out this late anyway). With a quick warning, Graves turned on the spot and apparated Credence to his flat.

 

It wasn’t much, considering that Graves spent most of his time at MACUSA anyway and was really only here to sleep and eat. He didn’t remember the last time he’d taken a day off, but wasn’t inclined to anyway. Despite that the flat was orderly and homely, warm and with good quality furniture. Credence looked around in awe, more likely due to the abrupt location change than any amazement Graves’ MACUSA-funded apartment could possibly bestow.

 

“Take a seat if you like, I’ll make you a drink. Do you prefer coffee or tea?” he asked. Credence shrugged in response, which Graves took to mean that he hadn’t tried either of those things enough times to form a preference.

 

“I’ll make you tea since it’s late, alright?” he asked.

 

“Thank you, Mr. Graves,” Credence replied, looking into his eyes again. Graves couldn’t help the smile on his face as he gestured for Credence to have the room, and whipped off his coat and scarf on the way into the kitchen. It wasn’t entirely a separate room, as the apartment was quite open plan, and it allowed him to watch Credence settle in from the corner of his eye. He watched the boy look around, hunched and small-shouldered as usual but a little less so, and saw Credence’s eyes rove over the photographs above his fireplace, the wizarding photographs that were so different to the still no-maj ones.

 

It was a pinch to boil the jug with a flick of his fingers, and he had tea steeping in their mugs in seconds. Going off instinct, Graves added a little sugar and milk to Credence’s cup, but left his own black.

 

“Those are my classmates from school,” Graves said, carrying the mugs in as Credence peered at the photographs.

 

“Is there a wizarding school?” Credence asked abruptly.

 

“Of course,” Graves replied, putting down the mugs. Credence turned reluctantly away from the photos and picked up his with a smile. “There are wizarding schools all around the world, in every continent. The most well known in the U.S. is Ilvermorny, though there are many others. That’s where I attended. Hogwarts in the UK, Mahoutokoro in Japan, Uagadou in Uganda, Castelobruxo in Brazil…” Credence’s eyes lit up with every word Graves spoke.

 

Confident in what this meant, Graves sat down on his sofa and gestured for Credence to do the same. The boy hesitantly settled in, straight-backed like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to be comfortable, while Graves sat sideways with one knee on the sofa, elbow perched on the back of the couch to lean his head on his fist.

 

“What do you think of magic now, Credence?” he asked. In response, Credence bit his bottom lip in thought and took a sip of his tea, looking anywhere but at Graves. “Let’s try this then, what did you think of magic before Tina?”

 

“It’s evil,” Credence replied immediately, the answer automatic and punched out of his chest. His face colored at that, and he looked down to his tea with the flush high on his cheekbones.

 

“Do you still think that?” Graves asked, curious.

 

“No, sir,” he replied, eyes darting about the room.

 

With a sigh, Graves picked up his tea and took a sip. “I’m not interrogating you, Credence. There is no right or wrong answer. I’m simply curious to see what you think now that you have interacted with magic-users, now that you know what magic can do,” he said.

 

“I know it can… move me from place to place,” Credence started hesitantly, still looking down at the wavering surface of his drink. “It can heal me, can make me feel no pain. But it hurt my mother.” With that, he looked up at Graves, his eyes dark and firm.

 

“I don’t believe that magic is inherently good or evil, Mr. Graves, I believe it is what you do with it that determines whether it is or not. I think… it comes down to whether the person using magic is good or evil,” he said. Graves couldn’t quite stop the proud smile that overtook his face. It made him want to reach a hand out and touch his fingers to Credence’s neck, to rub his thumb over that sharp jawline, to-

 

Oh.

 

Well, he was certainly failing in not getting attached.

 

“That’s a very smart opinion to have, Credence,” he replied, pushing those thoughts away. “And accurate, too. There are dark wizards and witches in the world who use forbidden magic to hurt and terrorise others. Those are the kind of people that I stop, that’s my job.”

 

Credence looked thoughtful for a few moments. “Was that Tina’s job as well?” he asked. “Is that why she got demoted? Because she was meant to stop wizards who hurt others but she hurt my mother?” Graves knew Credence was a smart boy, but this was insight he wasn’t quite expecting. His smile made Credence blush.

 

“Yes,” he replied. “We are Magical Law Enforcement, we are not meant to attack others unprovoked, and we are certainly not to attack non-magic users. I understand where Tina was coming from, but as her superior I had no choice but to punish her for breaking the law.”

 

Credence looked surprised at something, tightening his fingers around his cup. “Are you her boss?” he asked.

 

“Yes. I’m the Director of Magical Security,” Graves replied truthfully.

 

“Oh,” Credence stuttered, looking back down at his tea. “I- then why would you- why-“

 

Graves placed his cup somewhat recklessly on the coffee table and plucked Credence’s out of his hands, then shuffled closer so he could grasp the boy’s shoulders, giving him enough time to pull away if he was uncomfortable with the contact. Credence’s gaze stayed fixed firmly on the sofa, so Graves slid his hands up until he could cup the boy’s jaw and gently tilted his head up until Credence looked at him, apprehensive and unsure. Even in the warmth of the apartment, his skin was still cold.

 

“You deserve to be happy and unhurt,” Graves said, looking Credence straight in the eye. “Even if you don’t believe that yet.”

 

It was a long time before Credence replied, not breaking eye contact. “I think, Mr. Graves,” he murmured. “That I’m starting to.”

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you mean I'm referring to Magical Security as M-Sec because I'm trash for Mass Effect? (Also, I hope this chapter was enjoyable! Comments mean a lot to me to let me know I'm on the right track with my characterisation for this. I'm also trying to add a bit more plot and other characters to sort of flesh it out a bit more and expand on the world.)
> 
> Considering that I'm from NZ and we're much more British in our way of talking than American, please let me know if there's anything in here that I should change to make it sound more... American? idk


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't listened to [Letting It Out - Openside](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Eyu_17r5po) by now, which is _the_ most Credence song in existence, I suggest you do so!

* * *

 

Not even a few days later marked the first of Grindelwald’s attacks. Despite the fact that aurors had been posted at nearly every single border crossing from Canada into the U.S., they didn’t have enough people at MACUSA to be stationed entirely along it. Thus, Grindelwald had managed to find a border crossing with relative ease that wasn’t patrolled by aurors, and entered the United States relatively unseen.

 

It wasn’t a flashy magical attack like at the Soviet portkey station. It was a collection of dead, unseeing no-majs that were only discovered at least a day after their deaths by a roving pair of aurors on patrol through the area. Graves arrived at the scene as soon as they called it in, aurors masquerading as no-majs roping off the area and keeping the public back as they surveyed it.

 

Not that there was much to extrapolate – Grindelwald had entered from the Canadian side and murdered every single no-maj in sight. Eleven bodies littered the ground, six guards and five civilians, all staring up at the sky with blank and sightless eyes, absolutely no sign of what killed them. At least that was what the no-majs would think; anyone from the wizarding community recognised the sign of the worst Unforgivable.

 

“They didn’t stand a chance,” Devaney sighed, running a hand through his hair. “L says Grindelwald apparated about fifty yards down the road and didn’t stop walking until they were all dead, then disapparated again.”

 

Graves could feel his upper lip twitch in disgust. “He didn’t even need to kill these people,” he said, crouching down near the body of a thirty-year-old no-maj. He had pictures of his children in his wallet. “He could have apparated straight through the area and yet he took the time to murder them in cold blood. He’s sending a message, Finn.”

 

“ _You can’t stop me_ ,” Devaney growled out between gritted teeth. “Bumping off defenceless no-majs for no reason. I can’t wait to catch him.”

 

“You and us all, Finn,” Graves said, standing up smoothly, looking about the area. Some no-majs were crowding around the tape they’d put up, some of them appeared to be distressed family members and others were no-maj police and from the press. “Get Jones to deal with the no-majs, then… get this goddamn travesty cleaned up. And see if L can track Grindelwald’s apparition signature.” Pinching the bridge of his nose, Graves walked off behind a building and apparated to the nearest station, wanting to get home as fast as possible.

 

Things were only going to get worse.

 

The next few days were hectic at MACUSA, and Graves’ work was piling up. He barely spent any time in his office and was all but camping out in the M-Sec department, co-ordinating all the assignments and pouring over the data that was being brought in. Though he remained calm, something he prided himself on in all situations, the others in the department were less so. Thankfully the aurors heading up each task force seemed to be doing okay, nothing could rattle Kira Fujiyoshi, and Lizzie Locklear rolled with every single punch, but everyone else seemed to be in a constant mild state of panic, and it was starting to get to Graves.

 

“I’m taking lunch, only contact me if there’s an emergency,” he groused, knocking back the dregs of his coffee.

 

“Yes, sir,” Devaney sighed, pouring himself his fourth – fifth? – cup of the morning. Graves threw on his coat and scarf and exited the building, apparating opposite the Second Salemer’s church. Timing it just right, the children were all streaming out the doors clutching their leaflets, and Ms Barebone shooed her own adopted children out not long after. Out of what seemed like habit, Credence immediately looked over to the alley, and paused for a second when he saw Graves waiting.

 

The boy headed off in his usual direction with hands full of leaflets, hat on his head to protect his pale skin from the emerging sun, and Graves waited until he was out of view of his sisters before approaching.

 

“Mr. Graves,” Credence greeted. Graves nodded in response and wondered what the hell he was doing here, why _this_ of all places was the only place he decided to go to.

 

“I need a break, Credence, and it looks like you do too. Shall we get lunch?” he asked impulsively. It had been years since he’d impulsively done anything other than react in a duel.

 

Credence blinked a few times. “I- I don’t… I don’t have any money, and if Mother finds out…” he murmured.

 

“I’ll pay,” Graves offered, “and we won’t be gone long. If you mother asks, you can say you were explaining the church to me more in depth. What do you think?” Always letting Credence choose, politely waiting to see whether the boy was willing to push his own boundaries – Graves knew how important it was to let Credence make the decisions and to not blindly follow Graves’ requests. He would not replace Credence’s mother with himself.

 

The boy finally nodded, and Graves smiled, leading Credence into a nearby alley so they could apparate away from the area. Graves was tempted to take Credence to his favourite magical café, but didn’t want to risk the chance that someone would recognise him and report back to MACUSA that he was with what appeared to be a no-maj boy from the Second Salemers. Instead, he took Credence to a small but homely no-maj diner that L had introduced him to a few months back. Nobody would recognise either of them, as it was far enough away from the church and MACUSA.

 

Graves had come here often enough in the past that the waitress working recognised him and directed the both of them to a corner table with a smile.

 

“Cuppa joe comin’ right up for ya, Mr. Graves,” she said, cheerful smile on her face.

 

“Thanks, doll,” Graves drawled in reply. Credence sat down awkwardly opposite Graves who had taken the seat against the wall so he was able to see the entire diner – a difficult habit to kick, constant vigilance.

 

“Are you hungry?” Graves asked.

 

“No, sir,” Credence replied, and he seemed to be honest about it. Graves got Credence a coffee too, a savoury muffin for himself, and relaxed back into the seat with a barely held-back sigh.

 

“I have the feeling things are only going to get worse around here, Credence,” Graves said, looking to the boy who placed his hat on the seat next to him. “There is-“ he paused, flicking his fingers in a quick _muffliato,_ “-an infamous dark wizard who has entered America. If he continues the same way he has been in Europe, his attacks will garner much attention from the non-magical community.”

 

“And my Mother,” Credence extrapolated.

 

Graves nodded, sipping his coffee. “Not many people are listening to her claims at the moment because the only attacks are happening in Europe, something that can easily be forgotten about or ignored. As soon as he starts in this country, people will begin to notice, and will begin to fear,” he said. “Salem is only one state over. Two hundred years is not enough time for our community to forget.”

 

Credence thought on this as he sipped his coffee, made a face, and added sugar and milk. Graves had to bite his lip so he didn’t laugh or smile at it, and damn, he was in deep already.

 

“Mother is already worried,” Credence finally said. “If there are deaths caused by witchcraft it will only make her fiercer in her beliefs. And Chastity as well.”

 

Though the boy did not vocalise it, it was clear he feared what would happen to himself and his youngest sister if his mother became more righteous in her beliefs. More volatile. Graves wanted dearly to tell the boy that his magical ancestry would mean that he would be able to join the magical community, that even though he had no magic himself to control he could leave his mother behind for good. He wasn’t ready though, would reject that outright, because he was curious about the wizarding world but was still loyal to his family.

 

“I’m already working fifteen and sixteen hours a day at Congress, and that will only get worse once the attacks become more frequent. This might be the last time we will be able to have a social visit like this, Credence,” Graves said, regret heavy in his tone. Credence nodded like it was to be expected, so Graves leaned forward and gently placed his hand on the boy’s wrist. “I want you to know that you can still call for me whenever you need to. If I’m in the middle of a situation I may not be able to come immediately, but I will as soon as I can.”

 

Credence stared up at him through his eyelashes, entirely still as if the hand on his wrist had immobilised him completely. The boy searched Graves’ gaze as if he were looking for the answers of the universe, like he was trying to connect constellations in his eyes that would make the world make sense. Graves, in response, tightened his grip comfortingly on Credence’s wrist and gently ran a thumb over the back of the boy’s hands. Credence’s eyelids fluttered at the contact, gone so long without a caring touch, and Graves had to fight to not wrap the boy up in his arms in the middle of the diner, surrounded by no-majs.

 

Credence finally seemed to find what he was looking for, flushed, and averted his gaze. Graves let go of the boy and bit back a smile, privately thinking _still got it_ to himself. L and Fujiyoshi would chew him out if they could see him right now.

 

He finished his coffee but wasn’t in a rush to leave, letting Credence slowly sip and savour his own. The boy was quiet and didn’t speak much, but he was intelligent with sharp insights that managed to surprise Graves every time. By the time Credence had finished his coffee, Graves knew they had to head back, but it was with great reluctance that he paid for their meal in no-maj currency and apparated them back near the church.

 

The boy’s demeanour immediately changed, so much so that Graves hadn’t even noticed how much he had relaxed in the diner. His fingers tightened around the brim of his hat he held, and he bowed his head and hunched his shoulders like a physical weight suddenly placed itself about his neck.

 

“Credence…” Graves murmured, and the boy turned to him. Like this, Credence appeared to be shorter than Graves, but in actual fact the boy was slightly taller at his full height.

 

Graves held out a hand to Credence, who was confused and stared at his outstretched palm for a few seconds. He took a hesitant step forward, and Graves slowly, _painfully_ slowly, took Credence by the shoulder and pulled him into a hug, bringing a hand up to the back of Credence’s head.

 

The boy was frozen for a few seconds, and then relaxed entirely, gripping Graves’ jacket lightly as if he were afraid to take hold of him, yet he rested his head on Graves’ shoulder. He shuddered once as though he was trying to hold back a sob, and Graves ran a hand up the boy’s spine.

 

“Any time you need me, Credence, I will be here,” he murmured into the boy’s ear. “Even if you just need company.” With hesitation and clear fear of rejection, Credence changed his grip so that he was holding the back of Graves’ jacket, and exhaled shakily into Graves’ neck. Smiling, Graves ran a hand over the boy’s hair and enjoyed the moment until Credence released his jacket and pulled away, eyes a little red.

 

Graves took a few of the leaflets just so that Credence’s mother wouldn’t think that he’d been doing nothing for an hour, then bid the boy farewell and apparated back to MACUSA. They had a lot of work to do.

 

* * *

 

Grindelwald was intelligent in his attacks on American soil. While in Europe his attacks had been flashy, violent and overwhelmingly magical. Here, though, he was subtle, showing a side that Graves had not yet seen in the man. His attacks could barely be called such, considering that all they were was every now and again, they would find a group of dead no-majs, simply lying on the ground like their souls had departed their bodies. An entirely different MO.

 

Half the time the attacks were so under the radar that no-maj authorities got to the scenes first, absolutely stumped at the complete lack of any cause of death, whilst magical authorities knew on sight and by the smell in the air what effect the Killing Curse had on others. Graves’ team of Obliviators were struggling to keep on top of it all, to make sure that the no-majs weren’t connecting the deaths across the country together. If the no-majs’ Bureau of Investigation got wind of Grindelwald and started to publish the situation in the newspaper… they were on the brink of the magical world being outed entirely.

 

As it was, some people like Mary Lou Barebone were hearing about the strange deaths about the country and were putting the pieces together. Thankfully most people still considered her theories to be outlandish or extremist religious propaganda, but her public sermons were attracting more listeners as she and her children stood on street corners and on stairs, preaching at anyone who passed.

 

Graves had had to catch Devaney’s fist more than a few times when the man tried to take a frustrated swing at anything he could hit, which was usually the wall, which usually resulted in injuries that would delay M-Sec while he had to get his bones healed.

 

“I’m sick of getting nothing!” Devaney growled out one day, staring at the map of the U.S., each death scene highlighted, trying to triangulate some sort of pattern. “Always five steps behind him, not a single sight around the country! He’s just… a ghost, and I’m sick of it.”

 

“We’re doing all we can, Devaney,” Graves said, voice loud enough that others in the office could hear it. He was tightly coiled but controlled in his anger. “As much as we can without being Grindelwald himself. The international community isn’t willing to help us yet because we have no absolute proof that this is him, no witnesses, and therefore we only have our own resources. We have to keep trying, we will have a breakthrough eventually.”

 

Devaney deflated and walked away, murmuring about breaking Grindelwald’s nose and much more. Graves pinched the bridge of his nose and approached Ngahere, who was sequestered away in the far corner, books piled high as they were absorbed in their research. Graves gently rapped on the table to get their attention, knowing what they were like when shocked. Ngahere jumped anyway, and then smiled sheepishly.

 

“Hey, boss,” they sighed, stretching in their seat.

 

“Found anything yet?” Graves asked, leaning against the desk. He couldn’t make out any of Ngahere’s notes, their handwriting far too cramped and small for him to see without some sort of magnification.

 

Ngahere hummed. “Maybe, boss, but I’m not sure yet. It’s a bit of a crazy theory, but if I’m right, it’ll explain a _lot_. I’ll keep going though, I don’t want to present it until I have some concrete evidence,” they said. “I’ll have to go out and pound the pavement a bit, so to speak, but… I think I might have something.”

 

Relief flooding through his bones that at least one person was managing to get somewhere, Graves clapped his hand on Ngahere’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he said. “Keep me posted.”

 

“Yessir,” Ngahere said with a two-fingered salute, and then dove straight back into their work. Graves headed back over to the strategy table where L and Fujiyoshi were discussing something together, both leaning over the table, L twirling a piece of her wife’s hair through her fingers.

 

He walked past them, intending to see if Seraphina was free, and caught a little of the conversation between them.

 

“-Goldstein would’ve come up with something by now,” Fujiyoshi sighed. “She was good at thinking outside the box. I miss her.”

 

L pressed a kiss to her wife’s cheek. “I know, honey, we all do. She’ll come back one day, don’t worry. They won’t keep her down there for long, not our Tina,” she said. Graves’ face fell, feeling Tina’s loss like a physical thing, knowing that the girls were right. Tina would have come up with something by now, but by law she was still to work out her time in Wand Registry for a few more months. His hands were tied.

 

Something in his pocket burned hot, and before Graves even recognised what he was doing, he was out of the building and apparating to the church. Credence wasn’t in the alley they normally apparated to and from, and so Graves crossed the road to check around the back of the church, taking note of the posters stuck up on the brick walls of the nearby buildings. No sign of the boy.

 

The coin was still burning hot though, and Graves looked up at the church, suspicion stirring in his gut. Pulling out his wand, he cast a thorough disillusionment charm on himself, and then slipped in the back door of the church.

 

Immediately, he could hear the sounds echoing throughout the deathly silent building. A whistle of something flying through the air, a sharp _crack_ , and a pained, restrained whimper that followed. The low, murmuring voice of Mary Lou Barebone saying something firm and sharp. Graves, with auror stealth, crept into the main area of the church. Young Chastity was making the leaflets at a table with a home-made ink press, her eyes occasionally glancing up to the mezzanine. Her expression was like a curious onlooker who was trying very hard to appear as though they were uninterested.

 

Graves’ lip curled at the thought of her interest. On the mezzanine, Mary Lou Barebone stood above Credence, who was kneeling on the floor, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up almost to his shoulders with his pale skin bared. He held onto the railing of the mezzanine with a white-knuckled grip as his mother brought the belt onto his arms, not caring whether it hit him on the wrist, inner elbow or bicep.

 

His own belt was missing from about his waist, and Graves could see the hidden glint of a penny in the boy’s hand. Graves crept closer, unable to tear his gaze from Credence’s crumpled and tear-streaked face. Each time Ms Barebone brought the belt down onto his arms, raising welts and cutting flesh, Credence was forced to count the number of hits.

 

Graves fisted his hands so tightly he could feel his nails digging into his palms. There was literally nothing he could do – he could not interfere with no-maj business, even if Credence was a squib. But he had to let Credence know that he was not alone, that Graves had answered his call.

 

In complete silence, despite the creaking of the old church, Graves made his way up the wooden stairs and crouched down next to Credence, the opposite side from where his mother was standing.

 

Gently, with a motion that should have been familiar to Credence by now, he ran his hand up the boy’s spine. Credence shuddered and looked up at his mother, but both her hands were holding the belt, her eyes burning with fierce righteousness and determination. Graves kept up the motion – a soothing hand up and down Credence’s back – and pressed a kiss to the nape of Credence’s neck, just a fleeting brush of dry lips. It was enough for Credence’s body to almost give out on him.

 

The boy tightened his grip on the coin, and Graves could do nothing as he suffered a further three lashes of the belt before his mother seemingly decided that he had learned his lesson.

 

She crouched down next to Credence and ran a hand over his hair, lovingly, like a mother should. It made Graves’ stomach clench at the familiarity of it and it was clear that Credence was confused between the two different, warm touches.

 

“Now what was the lesson tonight, Credence?” Mary Lou asked gently. Graves left his hand warm and comforting on the small of Credence’s back, watching his pale arms shake from where he still held onto the railing.

 

“N-Not to speak out of turn,” Credence gasped out, lips shining and red from where he had been biting them against the pain. “Your word is final and w-we are to obey you in all things, b-because you know best, Mother.” Mary Lou hummed, pleased, and stroked a hand along Credence’s jaw.

 

“Good,” she said. With that final, false comforting touch, Mary Lou rose to her feet and descended down the stairs like nothing happened. Credence fell apart as soon as she was out of sight, falling forward until he was pressed to the railing, injured arms dangling uselessly at his side, trying desperately to hold in the sobs. Making any noise now would probably only bring his mother’s wrath back upon him.

 

Graves, shaking with rage, wrapped an arm around Credence’s waist and pressed another kiss to the nape of the boy’s neck. Credence shuddered, forehead leaning against the slats of the railing, and squeezed his hand around the coin in his palm.

 

“It’s alright, Credence, I’m here,” Graves said under his breath so the sound would not carry to Chastity Barebone. “Are you allowed to leave?” he asked.

 

Credence shook his head no. “Where is your room?” Graves asked. Credence nodded towards one of the doors behind them. With the most gentle of touches, Graves helped Credence up to his feet, letting the boy lean on him until they reached what could only just be called a bedroom. It was little more than a cupboard, with just enough room for a single bed and a small nightstand. It was entirely clean and devoid of any personal touches or things that people acquired – Mary Lou probably used _thou shalt not covet_ to justify taking anything her children had away. The only items were a few battered books. The only thing still in near-perfect condition was the Bible placed atop the nightstand.

 

Graves placed Credence gently on the bed and shut the door behind them, locking it magically for good measure before placing a silencing charm on the door and removing the disillusionment spell from himself. Credence sat on the edge of his bed, arms about his torso to clutch himself as much as his injured and bleeding arms would allow him.

 

He knelt down on the floor in front of the boy and grasped Credence’s wrists, extending his arms to see the full damage, and Credence was unable to hold back his whimper.

 

“Shh, it’s okay,” Graves said, releasing one wrist to take Credence’s face in his palm. “I’ll take the pain away, Credence, I promise.” The boy nodded, lips pressed together in an attempt to control the pain.

 

Knowing Credence’s inherent reaction to seeing a wand brandished in his direction, Graves held his hand over the injuries to heal them without. It was easy with small areas, like the boy’s palms, but a larger area like his back had to be done with the more precise help of a wand. His arms were between those two, so Graves firstly took away the pain, unsure how well of a job his healing would do.

 

Credence breathed out a sigh of relief, and Graves looked up to make sure he was okay. Credence had his eyes shut and looked as though he was about to pass out from exhaustion. Knowing that Mary Lou Barebone was the kind of woman to check on the injuries tomorrow to make sure that her lesson was sinking in, especially in such a visible place, Graves only healed the wounds enough to scab up. The healing was more in the rhythm of the spell than the actual spell itself, almost like a song. Graves kept his voice low, passable at least to heal wounds on the field, and to heal Credence’s.

 

When he looked back up, Credence was looking down at him with shining eyes, but the boy quickly broke the eye contact as he usually did. With a smile, Graves rose to his feet and pressed a kiss to Credence’s forehead.

 

“Will you be alright?” he asked. “I can’t stay for long with your mother in the building.”

 

Credence nodded, eyelids fluttering with the effort to keep them up. Graves helped get the boy horizontal, pulled the enchanted coin from Credence’s palm and placed it under his pillow, and then turned to leave.

 

A hand shot out to grab Graves’ wrist, and he turned back to see Credence half-asleep.

 

“Thank you, Mr. Graves,” he whispered. Graves grasped the hand that held his wrist and pressed a kiss to the knuckles, then unlocked Credence’s door and apparated out of the building.

 

“You’re in too deep, Percival,” he sighed to himself as he entered MACUSA. “Far too deep.”

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter's a little shorter than the others have been, but I felt this was a good natural ending. Please leave a comment if you're enjoying this! There will probably only be at most two more chapters before we enter the events of the film. 
> 
> Also, I'm aware that MACUSA in the film wasn't aware that Grindelwald was in the country, but it seems a little weird to me considering how strongly convinced Mary Lou was of witchcraft and the number of people that she had attending her street sermons that there weren't attacks happening in the US, and they couldn't all have been attributed to Credence.
> 
> And... sorry for hurting Credence. I promise this fic has a happy ending.
> 
>  **EDIT** : Also, lmao I realised I accidentally ticked Major Character Death for this fic when there isn't any, I was meant to hit the No Archive Warnings Apply one.


	4. IV

* * *

 

 

Graves was well aware of the effect he was having on Credence Barebone. He was less sure that Credence Barebone knew the effect that _he_ was having on Percival Graves.

 

It had been… a very long time since Graves had been with anyone, let alone been on a date at all. Certainly not since he’d become Director of Magical Security and his position of authority frightened off what potential suitors his personality didn’t already. Before that, when he’d been in Devaney and Fujiyoshi’s shoes as one of the top aurors in the department, he had been too much of a workaholic to consider relaxing enough to allow romantic thoughts into his head.

 

Graves also knew what it was like to feel attached to someone who was your saviour – someone who took you out of the nightmarish world you had been living in and led you blinkingly into the sunlight. It was very possible Credence was reacting to Graves simply because he was the first person in a long time to treat Credence like a person, and to touch him without any intention of harm. Of course a young man who had been touch starved his entire life would react strongly to someone who healed his wounds, who gave him tea, who gave him a reprieve for even a few minutes from his nightmare, someone who held him when he cried and promised to be there for him.

 

But Merlin, nobody knew that situation better than Percival Graves and he still felt the urge to touch this boy and not just to heal him. He wanted to take Credence away from his mother but bring him to his own home, wanted to give Credence the opportunity to flourish in the magical world but wanted to be the one who taught him, wanted to see Credence smile and stand tall and be _proud_ of who he was.

 

And surely if Graves understood so intimately, it wasn’t so bad.

 

The fact was – and it was difficult to admit this after so many years of putting it behind him, of ignoring the scars on his skin, of pushing forwards and upwards and becoming more powerful than most wizards and witches he crossed paths with, after years of earning authority and respect, of being confident in himself and keeping a cool head in any situation which got him his unflappable reputation – the fact was… that Percival Graves was also an abused child. He was just like Credence.

 

Birds of a feather and all that, right? Surely two people who understood each other’s situation so well could work together, could be _good_ together, would know what pitfalls to avoid and what the other intensely needed. More than anyone else, they would see each other – all of each other – and love each other regardless.

 

Because Graves knew this feeling although he’d never felt it before, knew that his need to protect Credence and see him flourish wasn’t just some paternal instinct or obligation to Tina’s wishes. He knew very well what was overcoming him and he was powerless to stop it, in fact didn’t even _want_ to.

 

In only a few weeks, Graves had begun to somehow, inexplicably, fall in love for the first time in his life. This intense connection he had with the boy, a connection he wasn’t sure was reciprocated, had almost kick-started something within him. They seemed to resonate on the same plane of existence, understood each other, connected on a level Graves had never had before.

 

It was intense, and Graves was well aware that Credence was not in the right situation or frame of mind to be saddled with anything like this. Graves would do what he always did when something unexpected happened – he would handle it.

 

In the meantime, with things heating up at MACUSA (and the threat level clock having swung over to high alert) he was barely able to get home for much-needed sleep. Graves spent most of his time either co-ordinating everyone in the department, tipping back coffee, or out in the field following up leads or wrangling Grindelwald’s followers who had started popping out of the woodworks like daisies. This all unfortunately meant that Graves couldn’t even leave the building to get his lunch, let alone take the time to visit Credence.

 

The coin in his pocket remained cool to the touch, so he was satisfied that the boy was okay for now. He did, however, have a way to make sure that Credence knew Graves was keeping an eye out for him. Graves still had his old school textbooks in a trunk at his apartment, and would often tuck them amongst the other books that Credence had in his room – charmed, of course, so that to anyone but Credence they read as another simple book he could have found on the street or tossed into the garbage. Owing to the International Statute of Secrecy, Graves only provided the boy with books about magic in general, nothing to do with how their society specifically worked or anything that would break the law in case the books somehow got into the wrong hands.

 

He’d noted that Credence had a curiosity about magic after the first and only time Graves took the boy to his apartment. The boy knew only hate for magic, had been raised on it’s wickedness and sinfulness, and was given no opportunity to form his own opinion. If Graves was going to bring Credence into this world, if Credence wanted to join them, then he would have to know what it truly was.

 

“You know, I had a date tonight,” Devaney groused as the two of them explored yet another no-maj death scene. “I thought that maybe, just maybe, I could take a few hours off and enjoy the company of someone who wasn’t as stressed about this as me. Apparently not.”

 

Graves barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes. “Anyone I know?” he asked.

 

“Would you interrogate them if you didn’t?” Devaney asked with a raised brow. “You do remember that you’re my boss, not my mother.”

 

“Sure, pumpkin,” Graves deadpanned, placing a hand on Devaney’s shoulder before striding over to the crime scene. It took the man a few seconds to catch up, shaking his head and grinning, looking for all the world like he’d just discovered some sort of rare thing that would make him rich.

 

“Wow, _someone_ is in a good mood,” he crowed. “I don’t think I’ve heard you make a joke in years, I was starting to think you were incapable, Percival. Maybe _you’re_ the one going on a date tonight, eh?”

 

Graves didn’t dignify that with a response, only a dry look, which seemed to rile him up more. “You stuck on someone, Graves?”

 

“A little inappropriate to talk about this in an active crime scene, don’t you think?” Graves responded, raising his brows, challenging Devaney to continue. By the time Devaney opened his mouth to reply, they’d been approached by the first responding auror team.

 

“Aurors Laas and Nguyen, good to see you sir,” they introduced. “The scene’s just the same as all the others – bunch of dead no-majs and no evidence left behind, no witnesses.”

 

“Still not enough to bring in international help,” Graves sighed, looking down at the body before them, a blonde woman who couldn’t have been older than twenty-five.

 

Nguyen frowned, looking about the scene. “This still isn’t enough to convince anyone that this is Grindelwald? They did all see that girl’s memory, right?”

 

Letting out a bitter laugh, Devaney ran a hand through his hair. He’d been doing that a lot. “They saw the back of someone’s head, and these murders, as you said, have got no witnesses or evidence that it’s him,” he said. “They agree that it _could_ be Grindelwald, but it could just as easily be a copycat. Until they get actual proof, they ain’t gonna lift a damn finger to help us.”

 

“But the attacks in Europe have stopped,” Laas piped up. “Surely they’ve also made the connection Grindelwald is here?”

 

“No,” Graves said, voice low. “The deaths, while caused by the Unforgivable, could just be another fanatic of his. This is a MACUSA matter, because Grindelwald is smart, and has entirely changed his M.O. for this specific reason.”

 

“So he doesn’t want the Europeans to know he’s here?” Nguyen asked. “Why not?”

 

“That’s the question, isn’t it,” Graves said. “Get this sorted out. Report any leads to M-Sec.”

 

Upon return to M-Sec, with piles of paperwork to do, he found Seraphina waiting inside his office. She was looking sharp as ever in her skirt suit and robes, perched elegantly on her conjured chair. She was looking at the miniature version of the threat level clock that sat at the corner of his desk.

 

“Please tell me you’re here to say the Europeans are offering their help,” he sighed, hanging up his coat and scarf.

 

“I wish I was, Percival,” she replied. Graves sat down in his seat, tipping his head back and wishing he could get away with napping at work. “I’m not going to sugar-coat this for you. The majority of the European delegation doesn’t believe that Grindelwald is here, and some of our people are starting to listen.”

 

Graves’ entire brain ground to a halt. “What?”

 

“They believe it is someone impersonating Grindelwald or one of his followers. The fact is, Percival, we do not have a single shred of evidence that this really is Grindelwald other than the memory of a very traumatised young girl who saw the back of his head and the trajectory of his attacks that you plotted, leading him to the Bering Strait crossing,” Seraphina informed him calmly, one hand placed atop the other on her crossed knees.

 

For once in his life, Percival Graves was entirely speechless.

 

“And what’s more than that, is that the attacks on our soil are entirely different from Grindelwald’s past attacks, and some reporters from the _Ghost_ have even speculated that this could be a no-maj terrorist attack against their own kind,” she said, a little reluctantly.

 

Graves snorted at the idea. “We screened the bodies for poison and found nothing in their system and no-maj poison leaves a trace behind.”

 

“You know as well as I, Percival, that no-majs are always coming up with new and inventive ways to kill each other,” she said. “As President I have to explore all the possibilities that are presented to me, and… I have to say, they are making a convincing argument.”

 

Graves shot out of his chair and barely restrained himself from punching something, an uncivilised physical reaction to something that was so _stupid_. They could clearly see what was before them. It took him a few seconds to calm down enough to turn to Seraphina, who was still seated calmly.

 

“You know as well as I do Seraphina that this is Grindelwald. You know that he’s being smart with his attacks, raising no-maj suspicion and threatening to out our world to them. His trajectory pointed him here, his attacks have stopped entirely in Europe – you _know_ it’s him,” he hissed under his breath. Seraphina pursed her lips in response before conjuring that day’s issue of the _Ghost_.

 

“Grindelwald attacked Bucharest this morning,” she said. The front page of the _Ghost_ was dominated with photos of the rubble that was the Romanian Ministry, just under half the building entirely destroyed, bodies littered everywhere. Exactly the same as his other political attacks.

 

“Furthermore,” Seraphina continued, “we have had no sightings of Grindelwald at all on our soil. This is a man who prides himself on being seen and inspiring fear – it is entirely out of character for him to be hiding this way, working from the shadows, when we all know he loves to be larger than life with his face splattered all over international newspapers.”

 

Feeling his heart sinking in his chest, Graves turned to Seraphina. “You believe them, don’t you.” It wasn’t even a question, more of a statement – he could hear the resignation in her voice.

 

“I’m sorry Percival, but the evidence is adding up,” she said, standing and vanishing her chair. “I trust you, and I trust your judgement, and I will allow you to keep a team running in the meantime. We still have _someone_ on our soil killing no-majs, and we need to ascertain whether the killer is one of ours or not. But I’m under pressure from all corners to realise that perhaps Grindelwald never left Europe, was throwing us off his trail, and that perhaps we were too eager to believe in where he was.”

 

She placed a hand on Graves’ shoulder and he shrugged it off, ignoring the slightly hurt expression that Seraphina’s face fell into.

 

“Then I suppose you had better go and issue a press statement, Madame President.”

 

It took Graves a few minutes to collect his thoughts and calm himself enough to go and inform his team. As expected, they did not react well. Devaney lashed out and punched a filing cabinet then yelped with the pain. L took pity on him and went over to heal him while Fujiyoshi looked like she was about to murder someone. The rest of the aurors just looked lost and confused.

 

“Those bastards,” Devaney growled, flexing his fingers. Several other aurors made similar sentiments, and soon the room was ascending into an uproar. Overwhelmed entirely, Graves shut his eyes and placed a finger over his lips. In seconds, the room was silent.

 

Graves blinked his eyes open to see everyone in the room looking his way, his entire department needing direction and guidance. He sighed and placed both hands on the strategy table, leaning his weight into it, staring down at the map of attacks they’d made.

 

“I know you want to hear assurances from me,” he began, quietly spoken though his words echoed clearly through the silence. “I cannot give you any. The public wishes to believe what they do, whether it is out of fear or… whether we are actually in the wrong. Grindelwald might be here. He might be in Europe. Based on the facts, I cannot say for sure.”

 

He paused, looking up at his team. “I can say that as aurors we operate outside of politics. We do what is right no matter what politicians and senators and newspapers say because we answer only to the law, and to our instincts. My gut is telling me that Grindelwald is here. Whether you believe that or not is up to your own. For now, everyone is to go back to individual assignments, though we will keep one team running on all this-“ he gestured to the map before him “-until we figure out who is doing it and stop them.”

 

The room was entirely silent. “Back to work,” Graves sighed.

 

Slowly everyone fell back into motion, replacing files and taking down boards, shaking their heads as they did so. Graves knew that his aurors were some of the best, knew that most if not all of them would agree that Grindelwald was in the country. Even what all evidence said otherwise, Graves was not fooled.

 

“You alright, boss?” Fujiyoshi asked, sidling up next to him.

 

“I don’t know,” Graves sighed, pinching his brow. “We need someone to liase with the no-majs and eliminate any possibility of no-maj involvement. Someone to check for poisons, chokeholds that leave no trace of injury, and such.”

 

“Yes sir,” she said, placing a hand on his back. “I think you need to take a bit to breathe and work this over. Finn, L and I can co-ordinate this all for a bit.”

 

Graves looked down at the woman who was so small and unassuming yet her personality was larger than life. “Thank you, Kira. I think and extended lunch break is in order.”

 

Trusting his team, Graves stopped by his office to retrieve his coat and scarf. He was admittedly distracted as he headed out of the building, and only just stopped himself from walking directly into Queenie Goldstein, her arms laden with coffee mugs and milk jugs on her tray.

 

“Sorry, Miss Goldstein,” he apologised, supporting her so she didn’t fall over.

 

“Oh, that’s okay Mr. Graves, I’m perfectly alright,” she said, sunny smile in place as ever though it fell a little as she looked at him. “It don't seem like you are, though. Are you okay?”

 

Graves raised his brows and exhaled heavily. “Honestly, I’m not entirely sure,” he replied. “Picquery’s releasing an official statement that Grindelwald never entered the country and that he’s still in Europe, he was just trying to throw people off track.”

 

“Mm, I heard, it’s all causing a bit of a fuss,” Queenie said a little airily. “If it helps, Tina believes he’s here, and believes in you. She’s doin’ okay, but she really misses being with your team.”

 

A small smile made it’s way onto his face. “Don’t tell Tina, but I miss her being with the team too,” he replied.

 

Queenie’s face lit up into a bright grin. “Oh, she’ll be sad she missed that! Director Graves showing _real_ emotion, nobody will believe me!” Her optimism and teasing was almost infectious, and Graves had to bite the inside of his mouth to stop himself from mirroring her smile. Somehow Queenie Goldstein never failed to liven and lighten up a room.

 

“You’d better get going before that coffee gets cold,” he said, nodding down at her tray.

 

“’Course,” Queenie said with a nod. “Nice to be seeing you, sir.”

 

“You too, Miss Goldstein.”

 

Graves edged around her but had barely made it a few steps before Queenie called out to him softly, her voice louder than usual in the empty space of the hallway. He turned to see her nervously biting her lip.

  
“You’re very difficult to read, Mr. Graves,” she said quietly. “Most people are open books to me but you like to keep to yourself. If you don’t mind me saying, sir, you’re very closed off. Tina always says that being an auror is tough, keepin’ so many secrets, but if you have someone to open up to it makes it all a little easier. Do you have anyone like that?”

 

Graves blinked at her a few times, unaware until this moment just how observant the happy-go-lucky Queenie Goldstein really was. It surprised him, just like how Credence always did.

 

Something must’ve changed in his face, because Queenie suddenly smiled a little cheekily at him. “I sure hope you’re on your way to see them now, Mr. Graves,” she said.

 

“I am, Miss Goldstein,” he replied. Queenie nodded and walked off with her tray, humming a tune under her breath, and Graves shook his head incredulously as he watched her go.

 

It was with a strange sense of relief and frustration that he apparated from the sidewalk outside MACUSA to the alley opposite the Second Salemers’ church, flicking his fingers in a spell to ward off the rain; relief that he could relax for a few moments from being Director Percival Graves, but frustration due to the circumstances that were allowing him to do so. He was later than he usually was, and the church seemed to be empty. It only took him a few minutes to track down Credence standing in the rain, head bowed, handing out flyers, the only shelter for him being umbrellas of passing pedestrians.

 

The boy seemed to be unfocused, staring more at the wet concrete beneath him than at the people passing. Graves pulled out the charmed sickle from his pocket and ran his thumb over the face of it, activating the link between the two. Credence started a little as the coin heated up in his pocket, and his head shot up. Graves beckoned him over, and soon Credence was shivering in the alley before him.

 

Graves could have extended the impervius charm to cover Credence as well, but was curious enough to do something else. Instead he pulled out his wand and conjured a transparent umbrella that most low-level witches and wizards used. Credence had instinctively flinched a little at the wand, but was soon staring up in awe at the magic umbrella above them.

 

“Better?” Graves asked. Credence nodded, and Graves could barely believe how the wonder on this young man’s face could entirely uncoil the knot of frustration and anger in his chest, feeling like he could breathe for the first time since Seraphina delivered the bad news. What a brilliant thing Credence Barebone was.

 

He held his arm out to Credence. “Lunch?”

 

A pale hand gently wrapped around his forearm, and Graves apparated them to the same diner as last time. Credence stumbled a little upon landing, as was usual when individuals were unused to apparition, and the two of them were seated in the same booth as last time, a coffee each in front of them.

 

“Are you hungry?” Graves asked, relaxing back into the vinyl of his seat, wishing for all the world he could nap for just a few moments. Credence shook his head with flushed cheeks, and Graves wanted to know if he truly wasn’t hungry or just didn’t want to be burden, but didn’t see a way to do that without pushing Credence for an answer.

 

Instead he just ordered more food than he usually would, and offered some to Credence. It worked like a charm.

 

“How are your arms?” he asked, sipping his coffee. Credence rolled up the very edge of his sleeve to show that the cuts and welts had faded to raised red lines that would likely fade to silvery scars in not too long. “And the books?”

 

Though Credence was looking down at the food, the corners of his lips turned up just the slighest amount, and Graves was utterly transfixed by this beautiful boy.

 

“They’re… more detailed than I thought they would be,” Credence admitted quietly. “I didn’t think that magic was a whole society like this. Mother always said that witches were just… sinners hiding amongst the refuse. Like street rats.”

 

“We were, once,” Graves said. “Before the end of the seventeenth century, when the witch trials were at their height. Our entire society went underground then, and we built ourselves up parallel to the non-magical community around us, both for our protection and theirs. There are always people like your mother who seek to destroy us, and people like Grindelwald who seek to destroy no-majs.” At the mention of Grindelwald, he twisted his lips in annoyance, something that Credence picked up on. The boy was keenly observant despite the appearance that he was never looking at you, likely a habit picked up from living with his mother – hypervigilance, and the need to constantly know how another was feeling at any given moment.

 

“Are you… alright?” Credence asked.

 

“Not entirely,” Graves replied. He drained his coffee mug and flagged the waitress down for another. “That dark wizard I told you about? The rest of the world is convinced that he’s still back in Europe when I _know_ that he is here. He’ll be getting away with more murders because people are too blind to see what he’s trying to do.”

 

“Are you trying to catch him?”

 

Graves ran a hand through his hair, a habit he’d picked up off Devaney. “Trying is the operative word. We have nothing. Not a single sighting, no witnesses, no evidence. And now nearly all of my team is being re-assigned to other business. If we couldn’t catch him with the full force of Magical Security, how are we going to catch him with a team of five people?” he growled. “Maybe I am overthinking it. Maybe he is still back in Europe.”

 

“I don’t think so,” Credence said, so quietly Graves nearly didn’t hear it. He furrowed his brow, and gestured for Credence to keep talking. The boy flushed again but acquiesced.

 

“You have good instincts, Mr. Graves,” he said. “I don’t think a man like you is ever wrong about much. And I think you’ll be able to catch him.”

 

Graves couldn’t quite help the fond yet speculative expression that took over his face. “Oh?”

 

Credence twisted his fingers together under the table and refused to look up from them. “In the books you gave me, they said that only very powerful wizards and witches could do magic without a wand,” he murmured. “And that you needed a strong will to perform magic without words. I’ve seen you do both simultaneously.”

 

The boy stuttered a little, clearly incredibly nervous, but he pushed on ahead.

 

“You said that you’re the Director of Magical Security. That seems like an important position. I can’t think of much else that’s more important in a society than keeping everyone safe. So… I-I think you’re very powerful, and I think that if anyone can catch that dark wizard, it will be you,” Credence finished, blush having spread down from his cheeks to his neck and ears.

 

Graves couldn’t do much more than stare at the boy in much the same manner that Credence had watched him do magic with. Credence was entirely wasted at the Second Salemers’ church. It was incredibly difficult, in that moment, to not reach out and untangle Credence’s fingers from each other and press a kiss to the palm of his hand, his knuckles, his wrist, his fingertips. Graves found himself wondering what would happen if he kissed Credence on his lips.

 

Credence’s eyes flickered up to Graves when he received no response, his blush deepened, and he immediately looked back down to his lap.

 

“You are magnificent, Credence,” Graves murmured quietly, and if the boy went any redder he would surely burst. He checked his watch, and knew that he’d been gone long enough, that he should get back to work as much as he wanted to spend the rest of the day with this fascinating young man. He paid for their meal and gave the waitress a significant tip – no-maj currency was worthless in the magical community, and therefore they had an abundance of it – and apparated Credence back to the alley they’d left from.

 

Before he let Credence go, he cupped the boy’s cheek in his hand and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Credence froze to the spot, and looked at Graves with disbelieving eyes when he pulled away. Graves conjured up another book from his home and handed it over to Credence.

 

“Enjoy the book,” he said, and then disapparated, thinking _one day I will have the courage to kiss him properly._

 

* * *

 

The next week brought stress for the team and derision from the public as Picquery released MACUSA’s official statement that Grindelwald was most likely not in the country, though the aurors were still looking into the no-maj deaths. Devaney, L and Fujiyoshi were still on the team, Ngahere wasn’t able to be pulled from their research assignment, and the levels of panic in the M-Sec department dropped severely.

 

All except for the team working on the deaths.

 

“Absolutely no sign of poison,” L informed them. “I scanned the bodies with everything I had, spoke to all the apothecarians I know, both magical and no-maj, and found nothing. No signs of asphyxiation, no signs of death other than the Killing Curse. I’d be hard pressed to say this was anything but magic. Time of death says they were killed all either simultaneously or within _minutes_ of each other.”

 

“The Killing Curse needs power and desire behind it,” Fujiyoshi sighed, sequestered in the corner of the side-room they’d delegated to the attacks now that the threat of Grindelwald had seemingly passed. “To kill that many people in a row or at once requires someone of incredible power and absolutely no empathy. The magical toll murdering in cold-blood takes on a person is… immense.”

 

“How could they think this is anyone but Grindelwald?” Devaney asked, nearly pulling his hair out. “Best case scenario in this situation is that it _is_ Grindelwald, because the only other solution is that there’s another powerful dark wizard out there now on American soil. Home-grown evil.”

 

L snorted. “You act like you’re surprised about that,” she said. “Like someone raised here becoming a psychopath is an aberration.”

 

Graves tuned the argument out as he stared at their map of attacks, trying to see a pattern. Eight attacks so far, each in different states – Washington, California, Kansas, South Dakota, Florida, Wyoming, Virginia, Michigan. He suspected that the attacks wouldn’t get much closer to New York, considering that here was where MACUSA was most powerful. Each attack was at a completely different establishment, too, from the original border crossing station to a rural town hall to a bank. The only similarities were that none of the attacks were in cities or heavily-populated areas, and there were never more than fifteen bodies at a scene.

 

He was starting out small, in backwoods areas, small towns and farming communities. Grindelwald’s attacks in Europe had been flashy and incredibly public, and mostly aimed at the magical community. Here, he was just senselessly attacking no-majs. Any more attacks and the no-maj federal authorities would catch on, and they would be one step closer to being revealed to the public. One step closer to the Second Salem that Mary Lou Barebone called for.

 

Where Grindelwald had a clear trajectory across Europe, the attacks seemed to be entirely random throughout the states. The more that Graves looked, the more things seemed to be done entirely the opposite to Grindelwald’s established pattern. Yet his gut still told him it was the same man, and his team believed it too.

 

Devaney all but collapsed onto the sofa at the edge of the room, and Graves knew it was late enough that they all should’ve been heading home, yet none of them could quite bring themselves to do so.

 

Then one of the aurors, Lawson, burst into the room waving a piece of parchment around.

 

“Sir, two attacks!” he said. “One over in Illinois, same as the others, another definitely magical disturbance in the subway a few blocks from here.”

 

Graves frowned and pulled the paper out of the auror’s hand, reading over the details. Illinois – definitely the priority – and the other unlike anything he’d heard of. Something, some creature, had all but destroyed a subway station in Brooklyn, severely injuring a few no-majs in the process.

 

“The rest of you, get to Illinois as fast as you can,” he ordered the team. “Bring Jones and Mikhailov with you. “Lawson, get Ngahere off their ass and put a team together with them to investigate the subway.” He brushed past Lawson, striding across the room.

 

“Sir!” Lawson called out from behind him. “Ngahere’s gone for the night, said they had something urgent they needed to do.”

 

Graves exhaled so heavily it was almost a growl. “Then send Park!”

 

The teams were just about ready to floo over when Graves’ pocket burned hot. Cursing the timing, he ushered them on ahead, telling them he’d catch up with them as soon as he could. He all but ran out of MACUSA and apparated into the alley, finding Credence in the darkness on the floor, staring at his shaking hands outstretched before him.

 

“Credence,” Graves breathed, kneeling down next to the boy. “What happened? Your mother?” The yellow burn from the street lamp illuminated Credence’s skin – he was paler than usual, and certainly cooler to the touch when Graves took hold of his hands.

 

The boy could barely speak, and Graves was well aware of the ticking clock in the back of his mind, urging him to the latest scene, hoping that if they got there fast enough they could catch the man who did it. Credence looked up at him, eyes wide and surprised as if he’d seen a ghost, and he looked severely shaken. In shock.

 

Graves scanned him quickly with his magic and could find no sign of injury – no gifts from Mary Lou Barebone. Then what had his boy so wound up?

 

“Credence, I need to know what happened,” he said, voice low and hushed. “I can’t stay for long, I have a crime scene to be at. What happened?”

 

He opened his mouth, but no words came out, and Credence’s lips trembled. Then he entirely broke down into heaving sobs, and Graves pulled the boy into his arms, feeling Credence’s hands tighten in the back of his coat like a death-grip. _What_ had happened? Had someone died?

 

“Is it your sisters? Are they alright?” he asked, and Credence shook his head. Graves felt guilty that this broken boy was having a meltdown in his arms when he had somewhere he desperately needed to be, cursed the universe for its timing. The sobs soon turned into words, but they were barely audible or understandable, and not just because Credence had his face buried into Graves’ neck.

 

“Shh, my boy, it’s alright, you’ll be okay,” Graves said, running a hand through Credence’s hair, scratching soothing circles into his scalp. He couldn’t make out what Credence was saying other than _I don’t-_ on infinite loop. Eventually Credence’s sobs died out with his exhaustion, and he had practically fallen asleep in Graves’ arms.

 

He hooked an arm beneath Credence’s knees and picked the boy up, Credence burying his face into Graves’ shoulder. He apparated directly into Credence’s room, thankful that the door was shut, and placed the boy on his bed, smoothing a hand over his hair.

 

Credence didn’t want to let go, and it took a few moments to unhook his fingers from around Graves’ neck. He couldn’t help but smile at the sign of trust, and pressed another kiss to Credence’s forehead. Wet tears shone on the boy’s cheekbones, tracking down his face and off his jaw. As gently as he possibly could, Graves wiped the tears away with his thumbs, and looked down at the boy who was on the edge of unconsciousness.

 

Unable to help himself, Graves touched Credence’s bottom lip with his thumb, so lightly that the touch barely registered.

 

“I’ll be back as soon as I am able, Credence, I promise,” he vowed. “Until then, sleep.”

 

Credence nodded and passed out almost instantly. Graves stared down at him for a few more moments before apparating away, his final thought being _when I’m back, I’m going to kiss you._

 

Illinois was completely silent when he arrived, ten minutes behind his team, who were in frantic action around the ten corpses. They looked panicked – more so than usual.

 

“What happened?” he asked, striding over to them, lighting the tip of his wand to see what was happening. He didn’t need the stuttered non-answers from his team though to see what – or _who_ – they had found amongst the dead no-majs.

 

Ngahere was staring sightlessly up into the star-strewn sky, wand still clenched in their fist.

 

Graves’ brain ground to an abrupt halt, and then exploded into action again. He had ordered Ngahere to look into Grindelwald’s new wand which they had taken to with fervour. Ngahere had a theory that they were going to tell him once they’d gathered more evidence. Ngahere had come to Illinois on urgent business. And now they had been killed alongside these other no-majs by Grindelwald.

 

Devaney reached down to close Ngahere’s eyes and Graves’ blood _boiled_.

 

“L, tell me you can track him,” he snapped, voice cold and clipped and furious.

 

“You’re damn right I can, sir,” she replied, wand glowing green at the tip. “We’re early enough that I can just follow his trail. We have to go now, though, because in a minute we won’t be able to follow.”

 

All of them – Graves, L, Fujiyoshi, Devaney, Jones and Mikhailov – linked arms, all with similar expressions of fury and revenge on their faces, and disapparated. They were pulled along together, following L’s tracking spell, and they appeared in an empty field surrounded by pine trees so tall they nearly blocked out the sky.

 

Illuminated by the moon, waiting calmly for them, was Gellert Grindelwald.

 

All of them snapped into action as one, but before they could do anything, a wave of destructive magic unlike anything they had ever seen erupted from Grindelwald’s wand, surging towards them with the sound of a thousand howling death screams, and suddenly Graves was weightless.

 

He flew through the air and landed hard, screaming as he felt his shin snap on contact with the ground. Fury cutting through the pain, he splinted his leg with a muttered _ferula_ and staggered to his feet.

 

None of the others did.

 

The moonlight perfectly highlighted his team splayed out in all directions, limbs bent at unnatural angles, entirely unmoving beneath the night sky.

 

Lizzie Locklear and Kira Fujiyoshi were still holding hands.

 

Graves didn’t think it was possible to feel so much anger, didn’t think it was possible for one person to contain so much without bursting apart at the seams, but apparently it was. Graves couldn’t walk on his broken leg but he could still see Grindelwald, and he wasn’t too far for a spell to reach.

 

It was with great reluctance that Graves reached into his arsenal of spells that didn’t include any Unforgivables, and threw everything he had at Grindelwald. The man apparated out of the way just in time, and re-appeared not ten yards away, smirk visible on his face. Shaking with rage, the world turned red, and Graves operated entirely on instinct as the duel began. He threw everything he had at Grindelwald, feeling like his bones were about to vibrate out of his body, his very wrath flying at Grindelwald with each spell.

 

Graves was easily the best duellist in MACUSA, arguably the most powerful wizard in all of Congress. And Grindelwald deflected his spells with _ease_.

 

He had never been so powerful before – was it the wand? What was it that Ngahere had uncovered that had Gellert Grindelwald personally ending their life?

 

The clearing exploded in violent clashes of colour, emerald versus amber, crimson versus sapphire, bright enough that when the spells collided it almost seemed like daylight for a split second. A hurricane of fire poured out the end of Graves’ wand that Grindelwald took control of and sent back to him, the trees about them caught fire and bowed in the howling wind that their duel created.

 

A well-timed disarming spell sent Graves’ wand flying into Grindelwald’s hand, but he didn’t let that stop him. He’d been performing wandless magic since his sixth year at Ilvermorny, he wasn’t going to allow himself to let down his team just because he’d lost his wand.

 

He threw Grindelwald up into the air, who sent a bolt of something deadly and pulsing at him that broke straight through his barrier. Graves launched himself out of the way and collapsed with a frustrated scream as his leg gave out from under him. Before he knew what was happening, he was bound from head-to-toe and Grindelwald was pointing both wands at him with a smirk.

 

“The great Percival Graves, on his knees at last,” the man sneered. Graves went to cut the ropes that bound him, but instead found himself tumbling to the ground, blackness engulfing him.

 

 _I’m sorry,_ he thought.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha ha.. ha ... h a .... ..... sorry
> 
> ....This fic does have a happy ending, though? I mean, really, we all knew it was coming.


	5. V

* * *

 

 

Graves woke up to darkness and pain. The agony was almost unbearable, and he was sorely tempted to somehow will himself into unconsciousness again thanks to the strange yet torturous mix of sharp intense knives beneath his skin and a deep, throbbing ache. Though he couldn’t see anything, could barely open his eyes, he could tell that he was tied to a chair.

 

That wasn’t what worried him the most though. The most worrisome thing about the situation was that he was entirely unable to move. His body was paralyzed in place, lead lolling back onto the back of the chair so his throat was forcibly bared, unable to even twitch a finger or move his jaw. Despite the panic that threatened to take over him entirely, Graves remained calm and let his training settle his heartbeat and allowed himself to breathe through the pain the best he could.

 

And then the tip of a wand illuminated, the small light suddenly as bright as looking straight at the sun in such a dark room. Graves had to blink a few times to focuse his vision, and quiet laughter echoed throughout the space he was in. The light moved, shining down on the figure standing before Graves – an awfully familiar figure. Suddenly Graves remembered why he was here, and what had happened, and wished for nothing more than the ability to launch himself out of the chair and at Grindelwald, to wrap his hands about the man’s throat and _throttle_ him to death like a no-maj.

 

“You’ve finally woken up, Percival,” he said. “Can I call you that? Percival?”

 

Of course Graves was unable to answer, and Grindelwald laughed again. “Well, if there are no objections…” he drawled. He conjured a chair for himself and sat comfortably in front of Graves, crossing one knee over the other, looking for all the world like he couldn’t be more relaxed. Graves’ thoughts felt as slow as molasses; he was unable to string words together properly let alone muster up the willpower needed to perform any kind of wandless magic. It was the effects of a potion that M-Sec used often on the prisoners they brought in – he would’ve laughed at the irony of being subject to it himself if he could.

 

At the angle his head fell back at, it was difficult to focus on Grindelwald, who was sitting nearly outside of Graves’ sightline – which he supposed was the point; to make him feel more on edge and twitchy. It was an interrogation technique he had used many a time on suspects they’d brought into MACUSA. Was Grindelwald doing this on purpose to unnerve Graves or was it a coincidence?

 

“See, Percival, I will admit, I have a reason for keeping you alive,” Grindelwald said. “Your team were… unfortunate casualties, considering you were the one that I wanted. You see, the wizarding community in Europe is old and well established, but in America, your society is relatively young and unstable. Salem is still on everyone’s minds, Muggle and wizard alike.”

 

He paused, and tilted his head thoughtfully. “No, you call them no-majs, don’t you?”

 

Graves didn’t like where the conversation was going, especially considering the way Grindelwald was seemingly adopting an American accent the longer he spoke, almost as though he was trying to assimilate.

 

“Now, Percival, I need something from you,” Grindelwald said, rising to his feet. Graves could do nothing as the man approached, pulling a wand from his robes, the same one that Graves had sent Ngahere on their fatal quest for. Grindelwald reached over and, with his wand, sheared off a small portion of Graves’ hair.

 

Heart sinking, he was helpless to watch as Grindelwald produced a potion flask from within his robes, sprinkling the hair into the bubbling mixture. The scent was something Graves recognised all too well – differing from person to person but the same underlying smell all the same. Grindelwald winked at Graves and knocked back a sip of the potion.

 

In seconds, Graves was staring in horror up at his double, who had a horrific smirk on his face. And everything came together.

 

“Now, Percival, I’m going to need you to tell me about MACUSA,” Grindelwald said in Graves’ voice, his adopted accent sounding completely natural now in Graves’ lower timbre. Graves was trained to withstand any type of torture, and would rather die before he told Grindelwald anything, even just the name of the doorman who let them into the building or the house elf that operated one of the elevators.

 

Grindelwald peered down at his own wand interestedly, then pulled out Graves’ from his pocket. With a gesture, his own wand turned into an identical replica of Graves’ own, further solidifying that Grindelwald’s power came from this new wand of his. Grindelwald could have used Graves’ ebony wand to taunt him, but instead he was compelled to glamour his own, though it could be because ebony wands were notorious for their loyalty and faith to their bonded partners. It would be difficult for anyone, even as powerful a wizard as Grindelwald, to bend the wand to his wishes.

 

Graves wasn’t able to speak, but he was pretty sure he got the message of _I’m not telling you anything_ through to Grindelwald from just the anger in his eyes. The man laughed and leaned down uncomfortably close to Graves.

 

“You’ll tell me, Percival,” he drawled. Graves would’ve flinched if he could at the sudden and violent attack upon his mental shields, Grindelwald’s mind assaulting his own like a crashing tsunami – unstoppable and almost entirely impossible to hold back. But Percival Graves was stronger than Grindelwald was expecting, and his shields wavered but held resolute and whole. He felt like grinning at Grindelwald and then spitting in his face.

 

Grindelwald, however, didn’t seem discouraged at his failed attempt. Instead he tilted his head like a curious bird, and waved his wand.

 

Graves wasn’t even able to scream as his femur shattered into pieces.

 

If he’d thought the agony of his broken bones had been bad before, this was incomprehendible. He couldn’t focus on anything else, and was powerless to stop Grindelwald as he used the distraction to slip straight in past Graves’ shields and tear through his mind like a natural disaster. He scooped out what he wanted and tossed everything else aside like he was ripping pages out of a book and letting them flutter to the floor.

 

Eyes rolling back into his head, the paralysis potion wasn’t able to stop the spasming of Graves’ body as he began to seize at the assault.

 

Darkness encroached on him as Grindelwald finally pulled out of the tattered remains of Graves’ mind, and the man’s mouth pulled up into a horrifically smug smirk.

 

“Enjoy your stay, Percival,” Grindelwald said, voice muffled as though underwater. “I’ll pay a visit to our dear Credence.”

 

* * *

 

Waking was the last thing Graves wanted to do, yet he wasn’t able to cling to unconsciousness any longer. He came to on the bare concrete floor of a dark room, the chair he had been tied to long gone along with his clothes – he was left only in his underthings.

 

He couldn’t do anything but stare out at the darkness surrounding him in almost numb disbelief. He didn’t want to think, didn’t want to remember what happened that caused him to pass out, didn’t want to do anything but be empty and insensate because thinking meant remembering meant having to relive the violation of his mind. Having to remember that he was forced open and torn apart and sullied. Everything he had worked so hard to build over decades – confidence, self-esteem, respect, power – destroyed in a heartbeat.

 

Graves hadn’t felt like this since he was a child who curled up beneath his bed and cried himself to sleep. A child who had at first begged and screamed for the pain to stop and then took it silently because the noise just made it worse.

 

His thoughts slip-slided like a needle slipping off a record over to a young man that he’d held through a similar experience.

 

_I’ll pay a visit to our dear Credence._

 

Though the paralysis had worn off by now, Graves couldn’t muster up the energy to scream like he wanted to with the anger that filled him. First Grindelwald murdered his team that Graves had been with for years, and now he sought to twist Credence to whatever purpose he had while wearing Graves’ skin, had the _audacity_ to turn their relationship into something that would surely do no good for Credence.

 

There was no reason for Grindelwald to visit the boy, no reason other than to rub it into Graves’ face that he could do whatever he wanted to Credence and he would be helpless to stop it, and the boy would think that it was Graves all along.

 

All Graves could do was pray that Grindelwald got bored quickly and moved on from the boy and saved him the pain.

 

Head spinning, Graves forced himself to sit upright and held back the bile that rose up into his throat. The wall was cool against his back and neck, and Graves tried to think his way past the potion that was muddying up his brain. Grindelwald must have known more about Graves than he’d let on, because all aurors were trained to withstand the potion somewhat and to build up an immunity to it should an enemy have them in this exact situation.

 

Anything that Grindelwald didn’t already know about Graves he had just ripped straight out of his head.

 

An animal whine echoed throughout the cell that Graves could barely believe emerged from his own mouth. He had been nothing but strong and powerful and proud for _years_ , since he had one day decided to be the opposite of everything his father told him that he was and rose through the ranks out of pure spite. He hadn’t felt this hopeless and helpless and powerless since he’d been ten years old with bleeding skin and red eyes.

 

Graves was not a man to give up easily but he was also not a man who deluded himself out of the reality of the situation. Never had anyone been able to outsmart or power through the effects of the Lockout Potion in the centuries since it had been created. There was no way that Graves would be able to perform any magic, no matter his ability to cast wandlessly and non-verbally, because the potion targeted the specific area of the brain that was utilised within spellcasting. No amount of hoping or believing in himself was going to make Graves the only exception to the potion.

 

That didn’t mean that Graves was entirely ruined for escape attempts, though.

 

Gathering his thoughts was like trying to grasp invisible snakes, but he managed to wrangle enough together to _think._ He couldn’t stand due to his ruined leg, which lay out beside him with nothing but a dull throb. Either Grindelwald had given him a pain potion – unlikely – or his brain had switched off the pain entirely to prevent him from going into shock.

 

Depending on how long he was here for, there was the possibility that Graves would never be able to walk unaided again, but he didn’t dwell on it. He still had three working extremities plus his mind. He didn’t become Director of Magical Security without being a damned good strategist. Granted his strategy was incredibly piss-poor at the moment, but he had very limited options with his handicapped magic and leg out of commission.

 

Grindelwald wouldn’t have a supply of Polyjuice forever, and would need to come back at some point to get more hair for it. He also needed to keep Graves alive in order to get that sample, and he would most likely also come back to gloat about what he’d been doing whilst impersonating Graves. So, possibilities that Grindelwald would return were high.

 

Like many aurors working closely with no-majs in a city as populous as New York, Graves had been trained extensively in hand-to-hand combat, unlike the majority of the wizarding population. There were hundreds of situations in which they could be required to wrangle a no-maj or have their wands taken away from them. As far as Graves was aware, Grindelwald hadn’t been trained in anything physical, which gave Graves the advantage even with one broken leg.

 

All Graves had to do was wait, and strike as soon as Grindelwald arrived.

 

Struggling to stand with one mangled leg was far more difficult than Graves had thought it would be. He had to lean all his weight on one leg and the wall, and with each step – well, hop – he took, it jarred the loose shards of bone within his leg and sent agony zinging up his spine. It was worth the pain though if surveying the layout of the room gave him a chance to save Credence, MACUSA and get justice for his team.

 

Graves had to take multiple breaks on his slow circuit of the cell, but it brought him to a few helpful conclusions. The first was that it was small – an advantage for him. There were no doors or openings at all in the walls, meaning that the entrance was either in the ceiling or Grindelwald directly apparated into the room.

 

He settled back down onto the floor opposite from where he’d started – or so he thought, the room was pitch black and easy to lose direction in – in the hopes of confusing Grindelwald for even a second when he arrived. And then he waited.

 

Adrenalin and hypervigilance kept Graves awake for hours, but eventually the throbbing of his leg and his exhaustion forced him to succumb to an unpleasant, disrupted sleep. He dreamed of waking up in his own bed with Credence in his arms, the boy’s features softened and unworried in his sleep – and then some force of nature tore the apartment open and ripped him out of Graves’ grip.

 

He dreamed of being back in that field with his dead teammates, all of them rising to their feet on broken limbs with their guts hanging out of their torsos, pointing accusingly at Graves while a baby cried in the distance.

 

He startled awake thanks to the stabbing pain in his leg that had him crying out. Merlin, at this rate his chances of keeping his leg were minimal if he was kept any longer in the dark without medical attention. At least it wasn’t a compound fracture, or he’d likely be infected by now. Not even magic could save a limb in that condition.

 

Being stuck in a pitch dark room was not conducive to being able to tell how long he had been locked up. Graves had a pretty good sense of time, but considering he’d been brought into the room unconscious and had absolutely nothing to tell the time by, he wasn’t sure if he had been there for a few hours or over a day. The only thing that helped him was the clenching of his stomach, indicating that it’d probably been a day since his last meal, and the throbbing in his temples that told him he’d definitely passed nine a.m. and the caffeine withdrawal was kicking in.

 

Everything combined, it was no wonder that it took Graves a few moments to realise that he was no longer alone in the cell. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and his muscles tensed as he snapped out of a doze, and he knew that Grindelwald was there.

 

“Show your face, you coward,” he snarled into the darkness, and received a chuckle back. It was a shock when the tip of Grindelwald’s wand lit up and Graves was suddenly looking at his own face.

 

“You know, it really is quite fortunate that I killed the rest of your team,” Grindelwald said. “That way people don’t look at me too intently when I do something that you wouldn’t. It’s working marvellously in my favour.” Graves’ upper lip curled as he remained where he was – he wouldn’t attack Grindelwald without the element of surprise.

 

“And, well, I paid young Credence a visit…” Grindelwald trailed off suggestively, and Graves felt his throat tighten as something in his chest leapt. “What a beautiful and scared boy, so trusting of you unlike anyone else in the world. Why he almost leaps with joy whenever he sees your face – sees _my_ face. I wonder what I could get away with while being you.”

 

It took everything within Graves to not growl out the _don’t you dare_ that leapt into his throat. Placing more importance on Credence’s safety would only encourage Grindelwald to pursue him further and more intensely, leaving Credence in more danger the more Graves showed how much he cared for the young man.

 

“Now, I am sure despite the potion your mind is whirling a hundred miles a minute about what sort of escape you may be able to make,” Grindelwald said. Suddenly his lips turned up into a cruel grin that Graves never wanted to see on his face – it made him look too much like his father. With a wave of Grindelwald’s wand, thick chains materialised from the walls and wrapped around Graves’ wrists, leaving him with only enough space to lie down and sit back up.

 

As if up in flames, his only escape plan burned to pieces.

 

Grindelwald smiled peacefully at whatever expression showed on Graves’ face – or perhaps he gleaned it from his mind now that his mental shields were in ruins. He pulled an apple out from beneath his robes as well as a canteen of water.

 

“Do make these last, Percival, I’m unsure how long it will be before I get the opportunity to come back for you, especially considering how much work goes into planning funerals these days…” he smirked. Graves finally let out the obscenities that had been building in his throat, and Grindelwald laughed as he apparated away, leaving Graves screaming in the dark.

 

After that, Graves began to lose time. There wasn’t exactly much one could do while chained to a wall in an entirely dark cell with only one’s imagination to pass the time. Grindelwald would arrive and depart on an erratic schedule, leaving Graves with food and a headache, and would often update Graves on the situation at MACUSA and with Credence.

 

The only saving grace of it all was that Grindelwald didn’t seem to be prepared to start anything romantic with Credence, and so Graves wasn’t left in the darkness with his nightmares of Credence being used by a man who wore Graves’ own face.

 

He wondered, after a good amount of time, if this was what madness felt like.

 

Most of his days were spent in increasingly elaborate and detailed daydreams, wherein Graves somehow got his ability to use his magic again and slaughtered Grindelwald with his bare hands. He knew the food that Grindelwald provided him with was laced with the potion that kept his magic at bay, but he had no option but to consume it or die, and Percival Graves was not a man who was prepared to die any time soon. His pride would not allow him.

 

His pride, in fact, was the only reason that Graves hadn’t begun to wither away.

 

It didn’t matter what Grindelwald told him or how long he spent spiralling into his own mind or how often he wanted to scream into the emptiness until his throat was destroyed and he broke down entirely, Graves was far too proud to allow himself to devolve.

 

He was losing weight, could feel the gaunt in his cheekbones and the hollows between his ribs, knew that his leg was probably never going to be in working condition again and knew that he was developing a beard that he most definitely did _not_ suit. But despite his physical condition, Graves continued to rebuild his mental shields right from scratch, discarding the remains that Grindelwald left behind. Each day, between the daydreams and temptation to fall into madness, Graves would meditate, work on his shields, and try to keep his mind in working order.

 

It didn’t stop entirely the howling insanity that clawed at his brain some days, begging to be let in, trying to persuade him into checking out from reality entirely, coaxing him into a world where he and Credence and his team were happy and Grindelwald has been caught and tried and executed. Days like these, though, Graves thought of just how smug the expression on Grindelwald’s face would be when he arrived to see Graves cracked and fallen off the deep end.

 

Eventually, Graves stopped trying to predict the time all together. He could have been down there days, weeks or even months, but after a while it seemed like his reality had always been the dark cell and anything outside of it had just been a wild, imagined fantasy. His only reprieve became Grindelwald’s increasingly more infrequent visits and the news he provided that everything outside the cell was real and tangible, even if that news was Grindelwald gloating that nobody had realised the deception yet. He mentioned something about an Obscurus that piqued Graves’ interest immensely.

 

There hadn’t been an Obscurus in America in nearly three hundred years. The fact that there could be one now was almost unheard of – and most likely due to Grindelwald’s actions and people like Mary Lou Barebone who were using that fear to their advantage. The attack in the subway the night that- _that night_ \- seemed to have been the first attack by the Obscurus, and there had been a few more reported instances since. Grindelwald seemed very curious about whoever it was and whether he could control the Obscurial and harness their power.

 

He also enjoyed taunting Graves with the knowledge that the Obscurial was in the nearby vicinity of Credence Barebone, and that the boy was most certainly in danger from whoever had the sheer terror and power that took over their mind and body and turned them into a murderous, parasitic force. Graves could only hope that what little Credence knew of magic now would be enough to save him should the child turn in his presence.

 

And then-

 

Grindelwald stopped coming.

 

The apples he had provided were nothing but rotten cores and the canteen was empty, and the smell from a provided bucket in the corner of the room began to overtake Graves’ senses. Either Grindelwald had found something that was more important than Percival Graves, or someone had discovered the ruse and had captured him.

 

Graves sincerely hoped it was the latter.

 

It must have been a few days since Grindelwald last paid a visit, because Graves woke up and was able to _think._ He was weakened physically and his mind felt like it had atrophied with the lack of sustenance, but the potion had finally worn off without regular consumption.

 

Knowing that he was likely at death’s door, that he wouldn’t be able to survive much longer, Graves thought of the small smile on Credence’s face that day in the diner, thought of Lizzie and Kira’s wedding, thought of Devaney’s shining eyes when he’d been promoted to Head Auror, and conjured up a glowing white stallion. It nosed at Graves’ fingertips solemnly, and then leapt through the walls like smoke and disappeared entirely.

 

With a smile, Graves fell to the floor.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why I chose a white stallion as Graves' patronus: "In some cultures, white horses stand for the balance of wisdom and power. In others, like Christianity, the white horse is a symbol of death. The horse is a universal symbol of freedom without restraint, because riding a horse made people feel they could free themselves from their own bindings. They are often associated with the sun chariot, with warrior-heroes, or with an end-of-time saviour." I felt it would be fitting.
> 
> Also, sorry for the cliffhanger I know I'm a piece of shit.


	6. VI

* * *

 

For the first few seconds upon waking, Graves thought that he had died and was in the afterlife. He was warm, and comfortable, and he could _see_ – granted, the room was incredibly dimly lit, probably due to the photophobia that would’ve emerged after however long he spent down in the cell – and he nearly cried at how he had managed to forget such creature comforts.

 

Blinking blearily, he turned his head to see Tina Goldstein asleep in the chair next to his bed, her head propped up on her fist, mouth open and a little drool escaping her mouth in such classic Tina fashion that Graves couldn’t help but chuckle. The sound jolted Tina into awareness, and she looked around the room wildly for a few seconds before realising that he had been the one to make the sound.

 

“Mr. Graves!” she gasped. “You’re awake! I- I have to call the healers, hang on, I’ll just be a minute!” Before he could say anything, Tina had run out of the room while wiping her mouth with her sleeve, yelling something down the hallway to the healers. Graves smiled at her antics and realised just how much he’d missed human contact, missed her. Healers poured into the room, some of them familiar and some of them not, and they were all waving wands and asking questions.

 

“Slow down, all of you,” came a new voice, English accented. Graves turned from the healers surrounding his bed to see Healer Michel in the doorway, clipboard in her hands and a soft yet thoroughly relieved expression on her face. It’d been months since he had seen her, but she looked just the same as ever – prim and poised, with short grey hair curling about her chin. “You’re overwhelming the poor man.”

 

“Poor man?” Graves rasped. “You insult me, Karin.”

 

Her lips twisted up into a wry smile and the healers all parted for her like the sea for Moses. “I haven’t ever seen you in such a state, Percival, it’s a miracle you’re still functioning. I should’ve expected that you of all people would pull through such an ordeal,” she said, smiling. “We’ll just run a few tests to make sure that you’re alright, and then we can deliver the news.”

 

“Good and bad or bad and worse news?” Graves asked.

 

“Little bit of everything,” Karin sighed. “Miss Goldstein, would you please inform the President that her second-in-command has woken up? I seem to remember her being rather worried about you.”

 

“Oh shit,” Graves sighed as Tina hurried off, knowing that Seraphina would be taking the entire situation personally as she always did. That witch put far too much responsibility on her shoulders on top of being the damn President.

 

He laid back while the healers ran their tests, while Karin explained everything they were doing for his own peace of mind. It was so similar to the last time he’d been in this situation twenty-five years ago that it almost threw him for a loop, and it was clear that Karin was thinking the same. The healers all exchanged looks with each other when she ran a hand through Graves’ hair, but continued on like nothing was out of the ordinary.

 

“I’m not a child anymore, Karin,” Graves murmured to her.

 

“I know, Percival,” she replied equally as quiet. “But I still can’t help see you as that little boy, too small to fill out an Ilvermorny bed.” Graves rolled his eyes at her but knew she could see him fighting to keep the smile off his face. A few more minutes saw the healers’ tests complete, and most of them filed out of the room.

  
“What’s the diagnosis?” he asked.

 

“Well,” said one of the healers, looking down at his clipboard, “you’re in bad shape but you could be worse off. You’re malnourished and severely underweight, you’re suffering from an acute case of dehydration and your organs were on the verge of shutting down entirely. You’ve also lost muscle mass due both to atrophy and your body entering starvation mode. We also found extensive scarring on your back, but Healer Michel assures me those weren’t from the last few months. You’re stable for now, though, and a regulated diet and a few potions will have you back to peak physical health in no time.” He trailed off after that, and Graves raised a brow.

 

“I sense a but coming along.”

 

The healer exchanged a hesitant look with Karin, who took over. “I’m not going to sugar-coat it for you, Percival, I know how much you don’t appreciate that,” she said. “We were able to save your leg, but it’s still in critical condition. Your tibia and fibula were clean breaks that were easy to re-break and heal, however your femur is another situation entirely. You were captured by Grindelwald for three months with that bone broken almost entirely into shards.”

 

“Three months?” Graves murmured, feeling like it was far longer than that.

 

Karin’s hand tightened on Graves’ shoulder. “Your femur tried to heal itself, but three months is a long time. The human body isn’t as easy to just fix up like a destroyed building or a messy room, and it is infinitely more complex. Your femoral artery was lightly punctured, resulting in some internal bleeding within your leg that made everything just that much worse,” she said. “In short, we’ve healed your leg to the best of our ability short of vanishing the bone entirely and re-growing it with experimental potions, but you will not be able to walk unaided again, and you won’t be able to run at all.”

 

Graves took in a deep breath and exhaled, processing that. In a way he’d accepted a long time ago that his leg would never be the same, and quite honestly it was a miracle Karin and her team had been able to save it. But preparation didn’t stop the shock at the news. He grabbed hold of Karin’s hand that still rested on her shoulder and squeezed it.

 

“Okay,” he said. “I wasn’t really expecting anything less.”

 

At that moment Tina came barrelling back into the room, Seraphina strolling in behind her, composed as always and with her skirt flowing out behind her. She was in her formal dress, the phoenix-embroidered one that she always wore during sessions in the Pentagram Office.

 

“Tina, tell me you didn’t drag her out from the middle of a senate meeting,” he sighed, and Tina pursed her lips and looked incredibly guilty.

 

“Don’t worry, Percival, I’m quite used to Miss Goldstein barging in on them by now,” Seraphina replied. “And I requested that someone get me the second you woke up, no matter what.”

 

Graves raised a brow and looked at Tina. “You’ve been barging in on senate meetings while I’ve been gone?”

 

Tina bit her lip and her cheeks flushed. “In my defence, Mr. Graves, it was an emergency,” she said. The few healers in the room filed out at the sight of the President, leaving only Karin behind.

 

“I’ll leave you all to catch up,” Karin said, her hand slipping out of Graves’ grasp. “I’ll be just outside if you need me, Percival.”

 

“Thank you, Karin,” he said, voice thick with emotion. She smiled at him before sweeping out of the room, closing the door behind her. Tina settled back into the uncomfortable hospital seat while Seraphina conjured her own, as per usual. The room was silent for a moment while everyone tried to gather their thoughts.

 

“So I was gone for three months?” Graves eventually said, and Tina broke down into tears. Alarmed, Graves reached out for her, and Tina all but collapsed with her face in the sheets. He turned to look at Seraphina, hoping for answers, but she was uncharacteristically refusing to meet his eye.

 

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Graves,” Tina wept, sitting upright again and trying to wipe away the tears. “We should’ve known, we should’ve… figured out that it wasn’t you, but you lost half your team and we just figured that you were in mourning, and then- then the situation with Newt happened and you sentenced me to death and I should’ve figured out then that it wasn’t you but I thought you were blaming me for not being there and then the Obscurus and-“

 

“Tina, slow down,” Graves cut in, mind whirling with all the information he got and didn’t understand. “One thing at a time. I don’t blame any of you, Grindelwald knew what he was doing.” Tina heaved in deep breaths, trying to control herself, and Seraphina passed her a tissue.

 

“What Auror Goldstein is trying to say is that we’re sorry that we didn’t see through the deception earlier,” Seraphina said calmly. “There were… signs that we missed, that _I_ missed, that were so obvious I’m not sure how we didn’t see them. It wasn’t until the very end that I realised something was very wrong, you’ve always supported the International Statute, not rallied against it. And then it was Mr. Scamander who figured it out in the end.”

 

“Scamander?” Graves asked. “Theseus Scamander?”

 

Tina sniffed loudly. “No, his brother Newt. He’s a magizoologist, he came to New York to set his thunderbird free and… got all tangled up in everything, and helped us in the end,” she explained.

 

“What does he have to do with-“ Graves started, and then he froze, mind rewinding back to something Tina had just said. “Did you say _half_ my team?”

 

Tina frowned. “Yes?”

 

“You mean they didn’t all die that night?” Graves asked, and Tina blinked a few times in shock.

 

“Oh, Merlin, no!” she replied. “L and Kira made it out alive, we got to them just in time.”

 

Something within Graves burst and gave way like a dam, and he had to fight not to break down in tears in front of the President and his protegé. Grindelwald was a lying sack of _shit_.

 

Seraphina gently touched his arm. “They didn’t come out unscathed, Percival,” she said. “You got the best of it, believe it or not. Locklear is paralysed from the waist down and is still a coma, and Fujiyoshi has amnesia of the event and brain damage the healers are working to correct.”

 

“But they’re alive,” Graves exhaled, his entire chest deflating in relief.

 

“Yes,” Seraphina smiled. “The others… Finn didn’t make it, nor did Jones, Mikhailov or Ngahere, but those two are still around.”

 

Graves inhaled a shaky breath and raised a trembling hand to his face, scrubbing over it to wipe away the tears that formed, noticing that he’d been shaved since his rescue and his hair was cut. Probably Seraphina’s doing – she knew how much pride he had in himself.

 

“So Grindelwald didn’t take everything from me,” he muttered into his hand, though Tina and Seraphina heard it. Then a thought rushed to the forefront of his mind so suddenly he nearly got whiplash.

 

“Credence?” he asked, turning to Tina. “Is he okay?”

 

Tina’s lips parted in a soft expression of shock, and she had to blink furiously against the tears that welled up in her wide eyes. Graves’ stomach sunk as his heart leapt to his throat, and his fingers clutched the bedsheets so hard that his knuckles creaked.

 

“I’m- I’m so sorry, Mr. Graves,” Tina whispered. “Credence didn’t make it.”

 

Graves’ heart stopped in his chest and he couldn’t take his eyes off Tina, waiting for her to say that it was all just a very horrible, ill-timed joke on her part, but instead her lower lip just trembled and she balled her hands into fists as the tears rolled down her cheeks and dripped from her chin onto the floor.

 

“How?” Graves asked, voice so raw and cold he didn’t recognise it.

 

Tina’s eyes flickered over to Seraphina, and Graves turned to see Seraphina doing that thing where she held her head up high in a way that said she did something she had to do, but it wasn’t necessarily a defendable action on her part.

 

“Seraphina, what did you do?” Graves asked. The President flinched away from his tone.

 

It took her a few tries to get the words out. “There- there was an Obscurus destroying the city. It had killed a no-maj senator and then killed some of the Second Salemers. It ripped up the subway and we were forced to expose ourselves to the no-majs in order to contain it, and we were too late. We had to get rid of it, or Grindelwald would have kept encouraging it to destroy the city and expose our society to the world,” she admitted, voice quiet but firm.

 

“ _Him_ ,” Tina said, stronger than Graves had ever heard her. “Not an it, _him_. His name was Credence and Newt could’ve saved him.”

 

At her words, Graves shut down entirely.

 

_Not possible._

 

There was no earthly way that Credence, _his_ Credence, his gentle boy with the soft smile and trembling hands and sharp jaw and curious intellect was an Obscurial, let alone one capable of murder.

 

There was no way Credence was dead. Absolutely no way that _his_ aurors had murdered him, that Seraphina had given the order to destroy the boy that Graves cared about more than anything in the world.

 

Credence wasn’t like that. Seraphina wouldn’t do that. Tina wouldn’t let it happen.

 

But the puzzle pieces slotted together so quickly that for the first time in his life, Graves hated his mind. He thought back to the night that Grindelwald attacked his team, the night that Credence called him uninjured but terrified and inconsolable, cold to the touch and utterly exhausted, in the midst of a panic attack. The very first night they’d received word of _something_ destroying a subway station, injuring no-majs.

 

Credence, being raised by Mary Lou Barebone who despised magic more than anything. Mary Lou, who already punished and beat Credence for everything else. Credence, who had a spark of magic buried so deep within him that Graves mistook him for a squib but could also be the only part of him that hadn’t been smothered by the Obscurus growing inside of him.

 

Credence, his beautiful boy, dead.

 

“-cival! Percival! Bloody hell, _Percival!_ ” came a voice, snapping through the fog that surrounded him. He blinked and shook his head, coming back into his body, Karin close enough that he could see each individual eyelash as she shone the light from her wand into his eyes.

 

“Don’t do that,” she scolded. “And you two told me you were going to be careful with him!”

 

Behind her, Tina and Seraphina were standing at the end of Graves’ bed, staring at him in complete shock.

 

“We- we didn’t think he’d take the news that badly,” Tina stuttered. “I didn’t know…”

 

Karin pursed her lips. “I think the two of you had better go until he’s rested and recovered. His body isn’t strong enough to take anything like that again,” she snapped. Her tone was resolute and immovable, and the two women nodded awkwardly before sweeping out of the room. Once they were gone, Graves allowed the tears to fall from his eyes.

 

“Oh,” Karin whispered, hugging Graves to her body, letting him bury his head into her neck and sob. “I’m sorry, my boy, I’m sorry.” He clutched his fingers into the back of her robes, feeling like a child again, and allowed him to break down in Karin Michel’s arms for the second time in his life.

 

* * *

 

It was two more days before Karin reluctantly allowed Tina Goldstein back in to see him, and he had composed himself enough that he felt comfortable allowing her in. He was quickly regaining the weight and muscle mass he had lost while in captivity, but despite the strong exterior he was portraying, he was just as numb inside as he had been after Grindelwald had assaulted him.

 

Tina explained everything to him, how Grindelwald had shown up at MACUSA in Graves’ skin saying that they’d been attacked by a crazy no-maj and managed to shunt off the entire investigation into his attacks out of MACUSA’s door. L and Kira had been immediately transported to Jackson Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries and were both in the ICU for well over a month. Everyone had passed off Graves’ new behaviour as grieving for his team and the loss of his best friend, and things seemed to return to normal except for the unexplained attacks.

 

Grindelwald had been using Credence to find the Obscurial in the hopes of using them to expose the wizarding world so he would be able to start a war and rule over the no-majs. He hadn’t realised – none of them had – that Credence was the Obscurus. Newt Scamander had arrived and accidentally had some of his creatures released, and on the journey to recovering them, he informed MACUSA that the no-maj senator hadn’t been killed by one of his creatures, but an Obscurus.

 

It all came to a head when Credence turned on Grindelwald, and though Newt and Tina tried to save him with the help of Queenie Goldstein and a no-maj, Seraphina ultimately ordered the destruction of the Obscurus to save New York and to keep their existence a secret.

 

And Credence had died thinking that Graves had betrayed him.

 

Newt had obliviated the entire city with the help of a thunderbird inexplicably named Frank and the venom of something called a Swooping Evil, and had revealed Grindelwald’s true identity. Seraphina had then arrested him and launched a full-scale operation into recovering Graves from wherever Grindelwald had stashed him.

 

“If you hadn’t sent that patronus, sir, we never would’a found you,” Tina said, eating a hot dog at his bedside. “We had no idea where you were and we couldn’t get hold of Veritaserum in time to make Grindelwald talk. That stallion bursting into the M-Sec offices led us straight to you.”

 

“That was the idea, Tina,” Graves said, attempting a joke. “I’m glad you were reinstated.”

 

Tina flushed. “President Picquery reinstated me right after we caught Grindelwald so I could help look for you,” she explained. “Park’s taken over as interim Director, with you and the girls out of commission.”

 

“Are they here?” Graves asked.

 

“L’s up on the fifth floor, they’re hoping she’ll come out of the coma any day now, but… it’s been three months, so they’re not hopeful,” Tina sighed. “Kira’s in and out with appointments to help with the brain damage, she’s got a bit of amnesia and aphasia – she struggles to get the right words out most of the time, now. It’s frustrating, so she spends most of her time up in L’s room, listening to records from their collection. She’s thrilled to hear that you’re okay.”

 

“Is she too scared to come and visit?” Graves asked, and Tina laughed.

 

“No, Healer Michel isn’t letting anyone but me and President Picquery in after what happened the other day,” she said, and then sobered. “Which, I’m sorry about that, sir, I… I didn’t know that you were so close to Cr-“

 

“Don’t,” Graves interrupted. “I can’t talk about him yet, I’m sorry Tina.”

 

She gave him a sad smile. “That’s okay, sir,” she said, before reaching into her bag and pulling out a pastry. It was shaped like a very strange creature.

 

“That’s Jacob’s Demiguise Pretzel,” she laughed. “He, ah, doesn’t remember anything consciously but it seems his imagination is running wild. Queenie picked it up this morning.”

 

Graves’ first taste of non-hospital food (or something that wasn’t an apple) in over three months was amazing. Tina promised to bring him more when she was able, and let Karin know that if Kira Fujiyoshi wanted to see him, that she should be allowed in.

 

It was a few days before Fujiyoshi was able to come and visit him, and she had a scar that stretched from her left temple all the way back through her hairline, almost to the back of her head. She had always been short of stature, but never had she seemed smaller than when she stood in Graves’ doorway in an oversized Christmas sweater, so large that the sleeves slipped over her hands and it stretched almost to her knees. Her hair was tied back into a loose bun and she smiled softly at him.

 

“How are you doing?” he asked as she entered the room. In response, Kira waved her hand side to side in an _okay_ motion. “Still struggling with the aphasia?” Her wide-eyed, frustrated expression said everything she needed to, and she settled down in the chair that Tina had evacuated only an hour beforehand.

 

“How’s L?” Graves asked quietly. Kira’s lower lip trembled.

 

“Okay,” she croaked, her voice rough from disuse. “She- uh- is still… asleep. When she got sick, I used to- to- _ugh_ \- speak to her. From books.”

 

“Read to her?” Graves asked, and Kira nodded.

 

“Yeah. Can’t do that anymore,” she sighed. “You?”

 

Graves shook his head. “Honestly, I’m not sure. Physically, I’ll never be able to walk properly on this leg again. I’m still recovering from starvation, my mind was broken into and all but destroyed by a psychopath and I lost the people closest to me,” he replied. “But being in here isn’t doing me any good.”

 

Kira snorted. “You never did well in hospitals,” she laughed.

 

“No,” he agreed. “Do you mind if I visit L once I’m allowed out of bed? I could read to her, if you like.”

 

“She’d like that,” Kira replied. She then tilted her head, and pointed at Graves’ face. “That’s new.”

 

“What’s new?” Graves asked.

 

“The- uh-“ Kira floundered. “Shit. The- the- split. Long split.” Graves rooted about in his head, wondering what the hell a long split on his face was. His mouth? Kira sighed in frustration and stormed out of the room, returning a few seconds later with a small hand mirror that she thrust at Graves. Curious, he picked it up and looked at his reflection.

 

Gaunt cheeks and tired eyes aside, he had a thin white scar winding down the right side of his face that he’d never seen before.

 

“That is new,” he agreed, blinking at his reflection. “I wonder when I got that.”

 

“Flew back,” Kira said, motioning with her hands, before pointing her finger and stroking it down the side of her face where his scar was. “Tree branch, maybe.” That made sense, as Graves certainly hadn’t received it during his captivity, and he definitely didn’t have it before they encountered Grindelwald. Even when Kira didn’t have her memories of the night, she was still sharp as a tack, even if the words weren’t coming out right.

 

She and L were always finishing each other’s sentences though; if the healers couldn’t totally fix her aphasia then her wife would be there to help out – assuming that she woke up.

 

The following day Karin allowed him out of his hospital room, accompanied by a healer, to go and see Lizzie. He couldn’t quite put weight on his leg yet, even with a cane, so the healer wheeled him up the two floors to see her. Kira was already camped out at her bedside, curled up on the small space left available on her bed with an arm wrapped around her wife’s waist.

 

It was harrowing to see the always energetic Lizzie Locklear still and unmoving, with machines breathing for her. Kira still had complete dexterity of her hands, so she kept L’s hair in her traditional braids as she couldn’t do it herself. Making sure not to wake Kira, Graves levitated _The Sun Also Rises_ off the nightstand, stretching his magical muscles so to speak considering his wand still hadn’t been located, and began to read.

 

His throat got sore faster than he’d thought, considering it’d been a good three months since he’d spoken for any length of time, and he had to put the book down relatively soon. He placed it on the bed so Kira knew he’d been there, and ran a hand down L’s arm, gripping her lax fingers.

 

“Come on, L, wake up,” he said. “Don’t let that bastard win.”

 

There was no response, though, no magical cure that could wake Lizzie up when she wasn’t able to be woken, and so he was escorted back to his room with nothing but the tiniest sliver of hope.

 

It wasn’t long before his leg was considered healed enough for him to begin physical therapy, though he had to take pain potions every morning and likely would have to for years to come. Tina dropped by every day, Seraphina less so, to inform Graves of everything at MACUSA and to keep him in the loop on the Grindelwald trial – which still hadn’t been confirmed whether it would be held in America or Europe. Kira was improving, slowly, though it was doubtful she would ever completely overcome her aphasia. L was showing signs of improved brainwaves, which meant she could be waking up, and it was only a few weeks until Graves was discharged and given a designer cane thanks to Seraphina when she came by to personally drop off his wand that they’d finally located.

 

Instead of going back home, where Grindelwald probably slept in his bed and drank his firewhisky, Graves instead went to MACUSA. His hair had been cut back to it’s usual style, Low had delivered him a suit, coat and scarf from his home, and the only difference outwardly was the limp, the cane and the scar.

 

Conversations stopped as he passed, eyes watching him with every step. Everyone knew the story now how Grindelwald had kidnapped the Director of Magical Security and kept him locked in a cell for months while he impersonated him with nobody being any the wiser. People still stepped aside for him, though whether that was due to respect, fear, guilt or the cane was totally unknown to Graves.

 

He arrived at the M-Sec offices, and it only took a few seconds for the aurors to quieten down to dead silence, staring at their Director.

 

Then someone started clapping, and others joined in, and soon the entire room was alight with applause for their boss – the _real_ Graves – returning back to his home. Graves couldn’t help the tiniest of smiles that tugged the edges of his lips up, and bowed his head in thanks. The applause died down after a full minute, leaving a hush full of anticipation.

 

“Firstly, thank you for the welcome home,” Graves said with a grin. “Secondly, I want you all to know that I blame absolutely none of you for the events of the past few months. Grindelwald played us all, and you weren’t to know. We are, however, going to need to develop some strategies and fall-back plans just in case something similar happens again. Perhaps code words?” His aurors laughed at that, and he could feel the tension in the room drip away.

 

“I’m glad to be back,” he finished up. “Now carry on.”

 

The aurors laughed at his usual brusque mood, but he could feel the entire atmosphere of the room lighten at it. He checked up on all his people, accepting the friendly pats on the back and hands to shake, seeing what assignments everyone was up to and whether he was needed. After Grindelwald, dark activity had seriously dropped within the U.S., so they were a little more overstaffed than usual, and quite a few of them had been delegated to other areas of MACUSA in the meantime.

  
He stopped by Ngahere’s desk, noting that it was empty. Apparently one of the first things Grindelwald had done was taken their research to ‘look over’, and it’d never been seen again. He swallowed past the lump in his throat and ignored the voice in his head that said Ngahere’s death had been his fault, and moved on.

 

His next destination was the closed door on the western wall with the name _Finlay Devaney, Head Auror_ engraved into a plaque. He touched his fingertips to the cold metal briefly, uncaring that he was in full view of his team. They, of all people, would understand.

 

Graves had worked with Finn for ten years, had always been a little higher up than him but they had always gotten on well, even after Graves had been promoted to Director. Graves had always known that the job was dangerous and subconsciously held himself back from getting close to anyone should something happen to them, knowing how some aurors broke after their closest friends and loved ones died in the field.

 

Now Graves only wished that he’d spent more time with Finn so that he had more memories to hold onto, because it was painful enough already. If anyone had asked him who his best friend had been, he would have replied with Finlay Devaney, the man who had stuck with him through thick and thin, who had passed his Auror Proficiency Test only four years after Graves, who didn’t insist on trying to break Graves out of his shell or try and take him out on the town. Finn had always quietly had Graves’ back and respected his need for distance and a certain level of professionalism.

 

And now he was gone, along with Ngahere and the others in his team, because of Graves’ mistake.

 

Logically he knew that it was all to blame on Grindelwald, that they had no way of knowing that the man was so powerful and would be able to take them out in one fell swoop or that he’d caught onto whatever Ngahere was researching, but Graves couldn’t help but take the blame upon his own shoulders as much as he blamed Grindelwald.

 

Feeling the telltale stinging in his throat that preceded tears, Graves shoved all those thoughts to the back of his mind and compartmentalised it all as quickly as he was able. He informed Park – who was no longer interim Director – that he was going to speak with Seraphina. He did, briefly, letting her know that he was settling in and was able to fully take up his role again, before he apparated out of the area.

 

Digging the knife in even deeper, he found himself standing in the alleyway opposite the remains of the Second Salemers’ church, which still had yet to be demolished and sold off. He cast a disillusionment charm on himself and entered the scraped-out hollow of the church, it’s exposed beams and broken windows creaking in the wind. He could see all too clearly the situation: Mary Lou Barebone beating Credence one more time, one time too many. Could see the look on her face, the terror that would have taken over Credence as the Obscurus ripped it’s way out of him and killed his mother and younger sister.

 

The youngest had apparently survived.

 

Graves stared down at the ground and wondered just where Credence had curled up in fear and confusion and desperation, calling for Graves to help him and instead receiving Grindelwald in his skin who tossed him aside like garbage once his usefulness had run out. He wondered how Credence’s face would’ve shattered and fallen at the revelation that Graves had been using him only for this, to be betrayed by the one person he thought was different, the one person he thought _cared_.

 

The worst thing about it all was that Credence had died believing that Graves didn’t care about him, when the reality couldn’t have been any more false.

 

Percival Graves had never loved anybody until Credence Barebone.

 

Fighting the urge to utterly break down and cry where he stood, Graves saved himself further self-flagellation and instead mustered up the courage to return to his own home and to mourn in private the passing of a young man who had deserved so much better.

 

The silent hush inside of his own house felt the same as one at a crime scene, or perhaps a funeral. The only light was that of the street lamps coming in through the front window, as the moon was no more than a sliver in the sky. With a wave of his wand, all of his lamps flickered into life, and his apartment looked more or less exactly how he’d left it – the aurors had already come through looking for evidence and had respectfully cleaned up anything Grindelwald may have left behind.

 

The first sign of something different was the bottle of firewhisky that sat on the mantel of his fireplace, half full when he’d left and now all but empty. The ottoman of his sofa was on the left-hand side of the coffee table instead of the right, and his books had all been put away, though whether that was the aurors or Grindelwald he didn’t know.

 

It was difficult to stand in his own doorway, leaning heavily on his cane, knowing that someone else had been living his life for months. Grindelwald had been sleeping in this house and cooking in it and reading it in and plotting in it. He probably would’ve done everything he could to make the place feel like home, knowing just how deeply that would cut into Graves. Despite the fact that he spent less time here than he did at work, it was his home.

 

It was on that very sofa that Credence had sat once, clutching a mug of tea in his frozen fingers, too scared to meet Graves’ eye, asking him about the magical community. There had been so much wonder and awe in his gaze when Graves had told him about the schools worldwide, the way he’d been fixated on the wizarding pictures on the mantel, the way he’d awkwardly stood in the room like anything he touched he would dirty and so he tried to avoid it all.

 

Swallowing thickly, Graves settled down onto the sofa, looking at the empty space that Credence had once occupied. Any vague hopes he had about introducing the boy to his world were gone now – impossible dreams. It was no longer hope but madness when Graves imagined Credence settling comfortably onto the couch in his pajamas, smiling softly at Graves with a mug of cocoa in his hands, talking freely about magic. Madness to imagine himself leaning over just enough to place his fingers under Credence’s chin to press a kiss to his lips, tasting the chocolate on them.

  
He was dead. Grindelwald lured him to his demise, Seraphina had ordered it, and his own people had carried it out.

 

There was no use dwelling on it. He had to move on if he wanted to remain sane.

 

And so Graves set to righting his house, every single inch scoured for Grindelwald’s presence and corrected if it was found, until Graves could begin to feel like he had reclaimed his space.

 

He knocked back a shot of firewhisky, feeling the cinnamon burn slid down his throat and settle into the hollow of it, and contemplated the merits of getting completely smashed. Those contemplations were interrupted by a desperate knocking on his front door, despite the absolute downpour outside.

 

Frowning, and with fingers clenched around his wand, he pulled open the front door to reveal Tina Goldstein, absolutely drenched from head to toe but with a frantic and slightly mad grin on her face.

 

“Tina?”

 

The words burst out of her like a shattered dam: “Credence is alive!”

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand we finally have some happiness! On today's episode of How Quickly Can Evvie Ruin That, we wonder what will happen next chapter!
> 
> Thank you so much to the overwhelming amounts of love and support this fic is receiving, I can't say how much your kudos and comments mean to me! You're all such wonderful people and I adore all of you :)
> 
> Also, in regards to Kira's aphasia, I've done as much research as I can but I'm still a little unsure how to write it realistically. If anyone has any tips, that would be great :) I'm working on the assumption that she doesn't have total aphasia, just struggles with verbs and specific words and such. 
> 
> (And if any Mass Effect fans are out here I hope y'all caught my reference)
> 
>  **EDIT 27/12/16:** The next chapter probably won't be out until early January as I'm working literally every day up until then :) Please anticipate!


	7. VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been gone so long, Christmas happened and then New Year and then I turned 21 (yay!) and I've been working more often than not to save up for my nine-month long trip to Spain later this year. But it's here now, and I hope it was worth the wait.

* * *

 

There were a few seconds of time following Tina’s announcement that Graves honestly wondered if he had finally snapped and his mind was making up scenarios that he desperately wished were true. Tina didn’t seem to care at all that she was shivering from the cold or that her hair was plastered to her face beneath her beanie. Her coat had been thrown on over top of her pajamas and her feet shoved into boots like she’d apparated directly from home without a second thought.

 

Graves blinked a few times until his heart started to beat again.

 

“Is he okay?” was all Graves could get out.

 

Tina’s smile dimmed a little, and she ushered the two of them into Graves’ apartment, shutting the door behind them.

 

“He’s as fine as he can be,” she said, speaking quickly as if she’d forget everything she needed to say if she didn’t. “From what Queenie and I can figure out, he didn’t get completely destroyed by the aurors and a small part of him managed to escape in Obscurus form. It’s taken him a few weeks to re-form and to remember everything that happened. He just- showed up on our doorstep, shaking and sopping wet, and Queenie sensed him and brought him in. I came straight to you as soon as we put him to bed.”

 

He was _alive._

 

Graves immediately limped across the room to take another shot of firewhisky, hoping that the alcohol would calm his frayed nerves and shaking hands.

 

“Does he-“ Graves stopped, trying to compose himself. “Does he know it wasn’t me?”

 

Tina pressed her lips together. “Not yet, but we’ll tell him as soon as he’s settled in, Queenie is absolutely doting on him,” she said. “I think right now he just needs somewhere to stay and something to eat, time to recover from what happened.” Graves could imagine just what Credence looked like, shaking and scared just like he had been the times he’d called on Graves for help and healing. Could imagine Credence showing up at the Goldsteins’ door with nowhere safe to go and only a vague memory of the woman who saved him from his mother because the only other person who cared for him had betrayed him.

 

“Could you please let him know as soon as he’s stable?” Graves asked, replacing the stopper on the firewhisky bottle.

 

“You don’t want to tell him yourself?” Tina asked, confused.

 

Graves shook his head and lit the fireplace with a wave of his hand, staring into the crackling flames as if they would answer all his questions. “It would be counterproductive to his recovery from this ordeal to see me now,” Graves said. “Even if logically he knows, he’ll still be seeing the face of the man who betrayed him and caused his near-death. He needs to be able to heal from this independently before I can see him again.”

 

Tina was silent for a few long moments.

 

“You love him, don’t you?” she asked quietly. Graves didn’t reply, couldn’t reply, and Tina approached with quiet steps until she could place a hand comfortingly on his shoulder. All Graves could do was turn to Tina with what he hoped was his usual stoic façade.

 

“I always believed that love was something that you chose,” he said. “Now I know that’s not true.”

 

Tina looked away at his words with a small smile helplessly tugging up her lips. Graves questioned her about it, and she shrugged bashfully, twisting the toe of her shoe on the ground like she was putting out a cigarette.

 

“Newt, he uh… he helped me change my way of seein’ a lot of things,” Tina admitted in a hushed voice. “Including him. He’s a very peculiar man but he’s very sweet, and he’s writing a book. Fantastic Beasts And Where To Find Them – he’s going with the title I made up, see.”

 

Graves made a mental note to read up on all the information he could gather about Newt Scamander.

 

“Anyway, we’re sending each other letters for now until his book’s published and he can come and give me a copy – did you know that they still use owls?” Tina said, looking for all the world like owls were on the same level as butter churning or cave-dwelling. Graves idly thought that Credence would probably love all of that- then corrected himself, remembering that Credence was _dead_ \- before correcting himself yet again. His beautiful boy was alive.

 

And probably hated him.

 

It was all suddenly too much for Graves, who knocked back another finger of firewhisky before all but falling onto the sofa, losing his grip on his cane. He watched almost in slow-motion as it fell to the ground, only saved through his own instinctive reaction to snap a hand out and halt the cane’s movement. He lowered it slowly so it gently landed on the hardwood floors without even a sound, and he looked up to Tina’s shocked face.

 

“I’m so sorry, here I am talking about me when you’ve just- you haven’t had time to- I’m sorry, Mr. Graves,” Tina babbled. Graves put a finger to his mouth and Tina immediately ceased and all but sucked her lips into her mouth to stop herself.

 

“It’s alright, Tina,” Graves said. “I’m glad that you’ve found love. Too many people thought you would end up like me. It’s just been… a very trying day, you understand.”

 

“Of course.”

 

Tina seemed to inwardly debate something, and then sat down next to Graves on the sofa, and faced him with a determined expression on her face.

 

“You know, sir, we all know how hard you work to be the immovable object in our midst, the bedrock of M-Sec, and we all deeply appreciate it,” she began. “We all know that it doesn’t matter what comes flyin’ our way that Director Graves will always be there to calm us down and handle it. And yes, we all went a little off the rails the last few weeks without you, but that doesn’t mean you can’t show weakness around us. We all respect you, sir, and there ain’t nothin’ you can do that would ever cause any of us to lose it.”

 

Tina reached out and took his hand, cradling it between hers. “You’re not a hundred percent yet, and we know that. Let us carry some of the burden for you until you can get back up to your full strength, because we all know you can do it,” she said, admiration and respect so audible in her tone it was like it filled the room.

 

Graves swallowed thickly and held back the tears that her words brought to his eyes, and Tina shook her head a little exasperatedly.

 

“That’s exactly what I mean, sir,” she sighed. “You’re allowed to have a cry every now and then. Merlin knows we’ve all been doing plenty of it the past few months.”

 

The laugh that bubbled it’s way out of Graves’ throat was barely even recognisable as such.

 

“When Karin first delivered the news to me, I hadn’t cried in over twenty-five years, you understand,” Graves said. “I wasn’t sure I even knew how to anymore.” He pulled his hand from Tina’s gentle grip and ran it across his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, feeling a stress headache forming despite the amount of alcohol he’d consumed that normally would dull the pain. He wasn’t even sure if he was allowed to be drinking with his pain potions. Maybe it was allowed, or maybe Karin assumed he wasn’t a complete idiot.

 

The only sounds in the room were the crackling of the fire and Tina’s slow breathing.

 

“Are you going to be okay tonight?” she asked. Graves nodded, keeping his eyes firmly shut against- whatever hurricane was currently building within his chest and mind and wanted to break out and destroy everything in sight. _Too much, too much, too much._

 

Was this how Credence felt?

 

Tina ran a hand down Graves’ arm, and he felt the sofa shift a little as Tina stood up. He debated for a few seconds on whether he should be rude and just keep his eyes shut until Tina left or whether he should risk her seeing whatever emotions had forced their way onto his face and into his eyes and would reveal the small, vulnerable child he’d always been.

 

“I think you need some time to process this,” Tina said. “But if you need anything, sir, you know my door is always open.”

 

Graves took a few moments to breathe out and compose himself. Despite Tina’s comforting words, after three months captured by Grindelwald and then weeks in hospital, his pride was the only thing he had left, and he was clinging to it like a child to his mother’s leg. He looked up at her, and nodded.

 

“Thank you, Tina,” he said. She nodded, dithered for a few seconds, then abruptly turned and headed for the door. Just as she reached out for the doorknob to step back out into the rain, Graves called out her name. She turned to him with her brow raised just a little.

 

“Please, just… just let him know that it wasn’t me,” Graves pleaded. “And that I would never do anything to hurt him.”

 

Tina stared at him for a few moments before her lips turned up into a bright smile, and she nodded. “Of course, sir.”

 

Within seconds, the door was shut and Tina was gone, and Credence was alive.

 

Graves shuddered where he sat, his muscles tensing and shaking while his lungs inflated and deflated but oxygen seemed thin and nonexistent and-

 

He was having a panic attack.

 

This hadn’t happened since he’d been in school.

 

Scrabbling for his wand, for control, Graves whispered a spell that he would be able to cast in his sleep. A small, bioluminescent flower materialised in mid-air before him, fully in bloom and with petals extended.

 

As the petals closed up to form a bud, Graves forced himself to inhale slowly. As the petals unfurled again, he released his breath through his mouth, and repeated as necessary, gaze fixed entirely on the glowing flower until the shaking stopped and his breathing evened out and he could think through the fog of his mind again. He picked up his cane and hauled himself to his feet, absolutely exhausted both body and mind.

 

It was a struggle, but Graves made his way up the stairs into his bedroom, folded his clothes neatly and hung them up when necessary (if he didn’t, he’d hate himself in the morning) and promptly passed out.

 

* * *

 

The next morning was like any other. As if almost in a dream, Graves woke up and made himself a strong cup of coffee, showered and got ready for work. It wasn’t until he put on his coat and scarf from the stand by the door that he remembered what Tina had told him the previous night.

 

It seemed stupid that he’d almost forgotten that his boy was alive. But he’d spent the past few weeks recovering in the hospital, thinking that he was dead. It would take even longer to adjust to the fact that Credence had been given a second chance. Somehow, it was easier to believe that he’d been killed than to believe he was alive and living with Tina and Queenie Goldstein.

 

It was with a brighter heart that Graves arrived at MACUSA, more settled in his skin than he had been since Grindelwald had thrown him through the air like a ragdoll and destroyed his leg. Tina was still assigned to the Grindelwald case – and that jurisdictional battle was one that Graves, quite frankly, was glad to be uninvolved in – and Kira was due for her first day back. L hadn’t woken up yet, but according to the healers her magical core was strengthening, meaning that any day now she’d most likely wake up again.

 

The M-Sec offices were more relaxed than Graves had seen in months. There were no active cases of high priority, nothing like Grindelwald or his followers, and the crime rate had severely dropped since they’d caught him. They were back to investigating regular crime and low-rate dark wizards, and Graves was simultaneously relieved and restless.

 

There was a round of applause an hour later when Kira arrived at the office, just as there had been for Graves. She flushed and waved angrily at everyone to stop, and shook hands with and hugged everyone who welcomed her back. She finally finished the rounds and came to stand next to Graves, looking the same as she always had but for the scar running through her hairline. She’d tied her hair up in such a way that it was visible for everyone to see.

 

“How are you doing?” Graves asked.

 

“Better,” she replied. “It’s good to be back at work. Speech therapy is helping. Short sentences are- easier to- to- _dammit_.”

 

“Easier to manage?” Graves offered, and she nodded. “Is it better when I try and find the word for you, or would you prefer to get it out on your own?”

 

Kira chewed on her bottom lip. “Depends. If it’s right it helps, if it’s wrong it’s annoying.”

 

It was at that moment that Tina came rushing in, twenty minutes late and her hat askew on her head. Graves barely held back his eye roll at it but Kira did not, and Tina sheepishly approached them while trying desperately to take her coat off without getting her arms and sleeves stuck.

 

“Sorry, sir,” she gasped, obviously having run the entire way here from the front doors of MACUSA. “I didn’t think it’d take that much longer to get ready with Cr- another person in the house. And I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”

 

“Too busy stressing, Tina?” Graves asked, knowing her propensity for anxiously micromanaging. He could only imagine how she got when a bedraggled Credence Barebone showed up on her doorstep with nothing and needing everything. Tina didn’t reply but her flush was incredibly telling. She changed the subject by pulling Kira into a bear hug, and in response Kira all but fell into Tina’s arms.

 

“Happy you’re back,” Kira sighed.

 

“You too,” Tina smiled, pulling back but still keeping a light hold on Kira’s upper arms. “I heard that Lizzie’s nearly ready to wake up. Do you need anything?”

 

Kira’s face lit up at the prospect of having her wife back. “No, I’m okay.” Someone across the room called for her, and with an apologetic smile she left the two of them to see what was needed. Tina sidled up to Graves, turning her head in that way when she was delivering sensitive information.

 

“We told Credence,” she whispered under her breath. “He was shocked for a few moments and then said he should’ve realised. I think it was a huge weight off his shoulders. He also agrees that he isn’t… ready to see you yet, not until he’s stabilised, but he did ask for another coin? I’m not sure what he means but he said it’s not to summon you, just to know that you’re there?” Tina looked incredibly confused, and Graves’ heart melted in his chest.

 

Credence knew Graves would never betray him, and wanted to communicate with him still.

 

Almost immediately, Graves pulled two sickles out of his pocket and put the same charms on them as he did previously. He gave one to Tina, and kept the other in the breast pocket of his shirt, right over his heart. He tried to think of it as being convenient, and not sentimental.

 

“How is he?” Graves asked.

 

“Better after a good night’s sleep and some of Queenie and Jacob’s food,” Tina said, face brightening. “They’re absolutely doting on him, you know. He’s a little lost and confused but knows that we’re all just here to help him, and even though he didn’t reform until a few days ago he’s still looking a sight better than he ever did with that woman. His hair’s grown out a little too, did you know?”

 

And, well. Wasn’t that just something to imagine.

 

The strange haircut had always worked mysteriously well for Credence, but now Graves was imagining the boy with longer hair that curled beneath his ears and maybe tumbled to his shoulders, a physical change to go along with his freedom. To truly show that he was no longer the boy that Mary Lou Barebone held with her iron grip.

 

Graves had to fight to keep the smile off his face. “Keep me updated, Tina?” he asked.

 

“Of course, Mr. Graves,” she replied with a grin. “Now I’m runnin’ late for _another_ meeting with the UK Ministry and the Scandinavian Council. Nobody can agree where Grindelwald’s going to go, and it makes my skin itch the longer he’s in waiting cells.”

 

“I can imagine,” Graves all but growled, crossing his arms and leaning up against the cabinets behind him so he wouldn’t lose his balance. “In a way I’m glad I’m not involved.”

 

“Only because you’re not able to be biased,” Tina sighed. “If I had my way you’d be doling out the punishment as you see fit. Merlin knows he deserves it.”

 

Graves’ eyebrows twitched but he said no more on the matter, and Tina reluctantly headed off to the Pentagram Office for yet another day of negotiations. It seemed that it had reached a standstill a long time ago, as all the countries who had been harrassed by Grindelwald wanted a piece of him, and the Scandinavian Council maintained that because Grindelwald was born within their borders and attended school there, they had jurisdiction.

 

M-Sec was by no means short of jobs to take on or investigations to run, not to mention the reports to be filed in triplicate, but everything had gone back to the way it had been before Grindelwald. It felt like the calm before the storm, like the void of power left in Grindelwald’s wake was just waiting for war to break out, to claim it, for all that Grindelwald had only been on their shores a few months. Kira was clearly glad to be able to ease back into work again, despite the tic she’d developed of checking the fire every half hour or so to see if any fire messages had arrived from the hospital.

 

Graves, meanwhile, began to run a hand over his breast pocket where he could feel the outline of the sickle, wishing that he could feel it warm up and know that Credence was thinking of him, wanting him.

 

Each day Graves would return home, heart sinking at how the only warmth emanating from the coin was his own body heat, knowing that it had been nearly a week since Tina had given it to him. Credence did not yet have the courage to run his thumb over it and think of Graves, truly wish for him, and though Graves understood it still twisted a dagger a little deeper into his chest. He realised that his own recovery – mental, not physical, which was progressing as well as it could – was being hampered by this, by how he was waiting every second for Credence to communicate.

 

Despite that, though, Tina was giving him regular updates on the boy. He was no longer flinching quite so violently when either the Goldsteins or Jacob approached him, and he was beginning to open up. Jacob (the no-maj who somehow recovered his memories, and Graves couldn’t quite bring himself to report that to Seraphina) had begun to show Credence how to bake when he returned home from his brand new bakery. The boy was showing interest, and Tina informed him that Jacob was wondering whether to offer Credence a job at the bakery as his apprentice, so Credence could help to earn his keep. Not that he needed to, but Graves knew firsthand the feeling of being a burden.

 

Queenie, on the other hand, stole Graves away one day when he was paying a quick visit to wand registration, and tucked them both into an alcove, looking terribly nervous, twisting her fingers together and biting on her bottom lip.

 

“Are you alright, Miss Goldstein?” Graves asked quietly, once it was clear that Queenie wasn’t quite sure how to say what she was going to.

 

“No,” she sighed. She was rather close in height to Graves in her heels, but her rounded shoulders and bowed head reminded her of Credence’s technique to make himself seem small, seem less of a target. “I… I’m sorry,” she confessed.

 

Graves’ right eyebrow rose in confusion. “What for?”

 

In response, Queenie blew out an almost violent sigh, and visibly pushed her shoulders back and tilted her chin forward, forcing herself to speak. “I’m not sure how much you know about me from Tina, Mr. Graves, but there is a certain something about me that I didn’t divulge on my employment form,” she began, still not making eye contact. “I’m a Legilimens. That’s how I knew Credence was outside the other night, and it’s how I’ve been takin’ care of him.”

 

The information didn’t quite shock Graves as it should have, considering that a lot of questions about Queenie Goldstein just fell into place.

 

“Alright, Miss Goldstein, you aren’t required to divulge that on your employment records at your level, but I don’t understand why you’re suddenly deciding to tell me this now,” he said, trying to figure her out. He blinked a few times when tears welled up in Queenie’s eyes, and when she finally made eye contact, she was so full of sorrow and guilt that he almost felt the urge to look away himself.

 

“I’m sayin’, Mr. Graves, that I should’ve known that Grindelwald wasn’t you, I should’ve been able to _tell_ , that’s my job, protecting Tina, but you both have such heavy defences that I didn’t even notice the difference between your minds, I just thought that you’d taken a bit of a darker turn after your team got attacked, as we all did, and I… I can’t forgive myself for that,” she sobbed, barely maintaining her composure. Graves’ brows furrowed deeply as he tried to process it all.

 

“Miss Goldstein,” he eventually said, “it is not your duty to analyse every person in MACUSA to trust that they are who they say they are. That’s what aurors and security are for. He got past everyone, Queenie, people whose jobs it is to actually make sure that things like this don’t happen. It is in no way your fault.”

 

Queenie shook her head at his words, honey-gold curls bouncing as she did so, looking down again in shame, eyes focused on his cane. “It is,” she breathed. “I felt the moment that he sentenced Tina and Newt to death. I felt her terror and how the world seemed to drop out from under her that someone she trusted and looked up to so much would do such a thing, and I should’ve known then. I should’ve realised.”

 

Graves did not have enough experience with crying women to figure out what the hell he was supposed to do in a situation like this. The only person he’d comforted before had been Credence, and he wasn’t about to start kissing Queenie Goldstein any time soon.

 

Instead, he did the only thing he could.

 

With trembling hands, he lowered the unbreakable wards he’d so carefully reconstructed in his captivity, the wards he’d had to rebuild after Grindelwald had tore through them viciously and relentlessly, the wards he kept up twenty-four-seven in paranoia and fear. He brought them down gently, a controlled unraveling of himself, and Queenie’s head snapped up as she stared at him with wide, red-rimmed eyes.

 

He was not a Legilimens, not even close, though he’d always been brilliant at Occlumency. He wasn’t sure how to communicate with someone who was one, but trusting that Queenie could already hear his rushing thoughts, he simply tried to project how he felt.

 

It was not her fault.

 

Queenie was a Legilimens, yes, but that did not mean she had to be a guard dog too. She could choose what to do with her talent, and no-one expected her to do anything she wasn’t prepared to do or simply didn’t know how to do.

 

Grindelwald fooled a team of aurors specially trained for deception, had fooled the President herself.

 

Nobody held Queenie accountable, certainly not Graves, and she hadn’t failed to protect her younger sister. After all, hadn’t she been the mastermind behind their brilliant escape plan?

 

Tears rolling down Queenie’s face, she breathed out shakily and nodded to Graves, allowing him to shore up his defences once more. She swallowed heavily and reached out to take Graves’ trembling hands in her own.

 

“Thank you, Mr. Graves,” she sighed. She smiled that million-watt grin that could light up an entire city, and wiped away the tears from her face. “You didn’t have to do that, you know. But thank you. Thank you for trusting me with that, just as you’re trusting me with Credence.”

 

In response, Graves found a rare smile of his own creeping its way onto his face.

 

“That’s alright, Miss Goldstein, I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather have looking after him.” Her smile got impossibly brighter, and they parted ways not too long after.

 

The next day, Kira dragged Graves out of M-Sec at lunchtime to the hospital where they’d just received word that L had woken up. She was out of it, too pumped full of pain potions to really communicate, but she’d wiped Kira’s tears away when the woman had cried and carefully (so carefully) launched herself into her wife’s arms. She’d greeted Graves with a hoarse, almost entirely silent _hey, boss_ and had then promptly fallen back into a doze.

 

Graves knew as soon as he heard her speak that L was going to be fine. Despite the fact that she’d never walk again, she was made of the same stuff that Graves was. She was proud and strong, and with Kira at her side, she would emerge victorious, if not entirely unbroken.

 

Going home that night was a little less painful than it had been the last few weeks, knowing that Lizzie was awake and still functioning, knowing that Kira was going to have her wife back, knowing that Queenie had been reassured and that Credence was being well looked after.

 

As Graves climbed into bed nearing midnight, he wrapped his hand around the sickle and went to place it on the nightstand.

 

It suddenly burned a pleasant warmth in his hand, and his heart stuttered to a stop before it started back up in double time.

 

Stroking his thumb over the hot metal, Graves sent the same sensation back to its counterpart, and wished dearly that it was Credence himself he was comforting, Credence's hair he could run a hand over instead of the smooth surface of a coin. Nevertheless, his heart settled in his chest with a contentment he hadn’t felt in months, and the edges of the sickle dug into his palm as he fell asleep with it still in his grasp.

 

Credence forgave him.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our boys aren't back together yet, but the road to recovery is a long one, and they'll be seeing each other face-to-face _very_ soon. However, our girls are okay!


	8. VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Credence is back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'd like to apologise for the HELLA long wait between chapter updates. I honestly had a good half of this written before January was even over but it stagnated on me because I wanted to make this chapter perfect, and I've only had about 5 days off work this entire month so far. I hope, however, it's worth it!

* * *

 

L was cleared the leave the hospital faster than Graves had thought. Physically there was no more recovery to be done – she’d been unconscious for months and her broken legs and hips had been healed as much as they could be, but she’d be in a wheelchair for the rest of her life. They kept her in for a week on observation after they gave her the news to make sure that she wouldn’t do anything drastic and to make sure she was eating and functioning normally. L assured them that not being able to walk was not the end of her world and certainly not a cause to off herself.

 

Kira and her wife were closer than ever, terrified after nearly having lost each other. Graves was glad to see that Grindelwald hadn’t ruined anything between them. He was also seeing Karin intermittently so she could make sure he was recovering okay, Tina was clearly keeping an eye on him, _and_ he was taking his pain potions each morning before he had the chance to feel the agony in his leg again; but the best thing to his recovery was the coin in his breast pocket.

 

It warmed up all the time now, and each time Graves liked to think about what Credence was doing that made him think of Graves.

 

It always warmed up at breakfast, when Graves would sit at his small dining table with a hot coffee and some porridge, reading through the important sections of the _New York Ghost_. He’d smile and send the connection back to Credence, and it suddenly felt like he wasn’t eating alone anymore.

 

Credence must’ve found out from Tina when Graves usually arrived at work, because the coin would warm up over his heart as he walked from the front doors of MACUSA to the M-Sec offices. It was a slower walk than it used to be – instead of power-walking everywhere, Graves was now held back by his leg and cane, but the respect and authority he’d cultivated did not wane with the employees despite what could be considered a weakness. It was the same way that people respectfully passed out of the way of an injured war hero, he supposed. Wounded in the line of duty, protecting these people, who were grateful.

 

The sickle would warm at random times throughout the day, never the same times or same frequency during working hours, and Graves’ imagination would run wild. Around lunchtime the coin would normally heat up, and Graves wondered if Credence was eating by himself at the Goldsteins’ home or if he yet had the courage to go out and eat, maybe even at the diner he and Graves had visited on occasion.

 

According to Queenie and Tina, he was settling in well. The homely environment of the Goldsteins was helping Credence to adjust better than other settings would, and there were no stressors or triggers that could send him into a panic attack.

 

“We’re still unsure whether he’ll revert to Obscurus form if he gets scared or overwhelmed,” Tina confided in Graves one day over lunch. “He’s been a darling so far, but we really ain’t equipped to be dealing with anything like that. I’m sure I could talk him down again if he did go all… smokey, but for now we’re just glad he can adjust.”

 

“Has he shown any magical abilities now that he doesn’t have to actively suppress them?” Graves asked, curious. Tina sucked her lips in a little as she thought, twirling some pasta around on her fork.

 

“Not yet,” Tina said, “though you can definitely sense him as one of us now. Something in him’s changed, for sure. Healers would be able to do a scan and tell us more, but Credence doesn’t really want to see them just yet, and I don’t want to push him any further than he’s ready for.”

 

Graves made a mental note to tell Karin about Credence on the off chance that the boy somehow showed up at Jackson Memorial, so she’d be able to handle the situation. After all, Karin had been the one who had nursed a terrified and explosive young Percival Graves into the beginnings of the man he was today. He thought about putting in a request to Seraphina to see if they couldn’t have the mind-healer wing named after her.

 

Sometimes the coin would warm up at completely random times, and Graves wondered if maybe Credence was reading a book, or learning to bake with Jacob or cook with Queenie; maybe he was ripping down Second Salem flyers or dreaming.

 

As with the morning, each evening without fail the coin would heat up around dinner time, and again around nine p.m. when Credence would be going to sleep, the curfew still a habit from living with Mary Lou Barebone. Graves would smile and rub it back from where he’d be sitting on the sofa or in bed with a book, and each night he would dream of every moment but with Credence instead of the sickle – Credence and he eating breakfast together, the two of them parting ways in the MACUSA lobby, catching lunch together for a few minutes, meeting each other in the hallways. Sometimes Credence was involved with the magical community, and other times he was an apprentice at Jacob’s bakery, a streak of flour across the bridge of his nose and confident hands kneading dough.

 

Credence curling up on the sofa with Graves. Running a hand through his hair. Turning off the lights. Falling asleep together.

 

Graves would awaken from the dream saddened that they were just dreams, and then the sickle would heat up in his palm as Credence woke up and he thought that just perhaps, the boy dreamed of such things too.

 

One morning he arrived at work to see a small envelope on the top of his in-tray inside his office, the handwriting on it clearly identifiable as Tina’s. The fact that she didn’t give it to him personally suggested that it was something sensitive for his eyes only. A little concerned, wondering if it was to do with the Grindelwald trial, he sat down heavily in his chair, balanced the cane against the side of his desk, and opened the envelope.

 

Tina’s handwriting on the white piece of paper said _Credence, 1922._

 

He turned it around and damn nearly lost the ability to breathe. A photo had been taken of Credence, the static image saying that it was on a Muggle camera, but that didn’t take away from the beauty of it.

 

His boy sat on some stairs he recognised as a building only a few doors down from the tenement that the Goldsteins lived in. He was dressed in a warm, soft sweater, and he looked good. Healthy. Nothing like the scared, pale boy he’d held in his arms months ago.

 

This, more than anything, punched the breath from his lungs and hammered the fact home that Credence was alive and _okay._

 

 

Unwilling to crease the photo, Graves instead shrunk it and placed it into his breast pocket along with the sickle, wanting to smack himself over his cane for being so sentimental. Though, being stoic and closed off hadn’t helped him much other than distance himself from people he so dearly wished he could’ve spent more time with, so maybe some closeness was a welcome change.

 

He went to visit the graves of Finn, Ngahere, Jones and Mikhailov the same day that L was finally cleared to return back to work. He spent the better part of the morning leaning heavily up against a large oak that overshadowed their bodies, protecting them. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to visit, thought that he would see their names carved into headstones and be hit with a wall of guilt, but it wasn’t as strong as he thought it would be. The grief was nearly overwhelming, and the responsibility – he was their boss who put them onto the assignments that’d gotten them killed; but the guilt had instead manifested in the form of a terrible and righteous anger at Grindelwald. If he remained on American soil for much longer, Graves wasn’t entirely sure he’d be able to control himself.

 

He arrived back to MACUSA almost at the exact time that Kira was pushing her wife’s wheelchair through the front doors. The wheelchair, of course, was magically enhanced so that it didn’t need to be pushed and could float rather like a broomstick, which saved the awkwardness of coming across any buildings without ramp or elevator access, but both women seemed happy as is.

 

“Welcome back,” Graves said as warmly as he could muster, placing a hand on L’s shoulder. She looked thinner and more tired than usual, but her smile was as bright as ever. She had an eagle feather securely braided into her hair, but when questioned she only gave a wry twist of her lips, though Kira smiled down at her with the same proud expression on her face that she’d had when she saw L walk down the aisle.

 

She received the same royal treatment the rest of them did upon arrival to the M-Sec offices, and her face flushed red as she waved for everyone to stop, which of course made them cheer all the louder. After the congratulations were delivered and everyone returned back to work, she seemed a little overwhelmed.

 

“It’s difficult to get used to after the silence of the hospital,” she admitted quietly. “I don’t even remember my coma, it felt like only seconds passed between the attack and when I woke up, but it still… feels like I’ve been in silence for months.”

 

Graves knew the feeling well.

 

“It’s a little- um- uh- to- to be back,” Kira said, frustrated that she couldn’t get the right word out.

 

“Weird?” L offered.

 

“No, little more dizzy.”

 

L chewed on her lip. “Disorienting?” she asked.

 

“Yes!” Kira replied, face lighting up. “Knowing that he was here for- _months_.”

 

“And none of us knew,” L sighed. “And I was just being useless in a damn coma.” Kira gave her a glare that spoke of familiarity with the subject at hand, and L relented and allowed Kira to push her over to her desk, grumbling about the paperwork she’d have to sort through after months of absence.

 

The absence of power that remained after Grindelwald was finally being filled by various low-level dark wizards who were setting out to terrorise the no-maj population, emboldened by the presence of such an imfamous wizard on American soil. Graves had to deal with assigning certain aurors to the case and contacting the rest of their people around the country to quash it all before they became organised enough to actually become a threat.

 

The days turned into weeks, and Graves slowly came to accept that it could take years before Credence was ready to see him. After all, Grindelwald had entirely shaken all of Credences’ faith in _anyone_ , faith that he’d had in his mother and her cause and placed into Graves’ care. He was flourishing with the Goldsteins, however, and had allowed Jacob to take him as a part-time apprentice in his bakery. Queenie would deliver some pastries that he’d made to Graves’ office, and despite their imperfection and slightly burned edges, they still tasted amazing.

 

Wondering if he would ever see his boy again, Graves was startled one night when he had just finished up his dinner and heard a knock on his door.

 

Outside stood Tina, grin on her face.

 

“Credence wants to see you,” she said, and the floor nearly fell out from under Graves. His grip on his cane became white knuckled, and he wasn’t entirely sure whether it was fear, shock or excitement that had him shaking. Tina smiled gently, as if she knew exactly how he felt, and held out her hand for him. Always so patient with him, even when he was hard on her and still snapped at her sometimes.

 

Swallowing thickly, sure he was in a dream, Graves reached out and grabbed Tina’s hand.

 

With an errant wave of two fingers atop his cane, his front door closed and locked behind them and they apparated into the hallway of the Goldsteins’ tenement building. He stared at the shiny gold number on the front door and knew that just behind that door was Credence.

 

His boy.

 

Credence who had started out as a stranger that Graves understood on a level barely anyone could. A boy with hunched shoulders and pale skin who flinched at the approach of anyone. The boy who was learning to hold his head up, to smile, to accept affection; who learned about the magical community with a desperate hunger. The boy that let Graves heal his wounds and take away his pain and pull him into his arms. The boy that Graves vowed to kiss one day, to keep safe, who had all of that taken away from him in the worst way possible, with a dagger to the back and heart.

 

The boy who wanted to see him again.

 

Graves’ heart stopped for a split second when the front door opened a sliver, just enough for Queenie to slide out and shut the door behind her, looking apprehensive and excited. She bit her lower lip and crept over to them.

 

“He’s on the sofa,” she said, voice low as to not disturb the other tenants. “He’s as ready as he’s going to be, and he misses you terribly. He’s finally been able to separate the two of you in his head.”

 

Jaw clenching at the boiling anger that Credence had to do that in the first place, he breathed out slowly and nodded.

 

“We’ll be right outside,” Tina said, squeezing Graves’ hand that she still hadn’t let go of. “Anything goes wrong, either of you can’t handle it, Queenie will know and can diffuse the situation. But honestly… I think he’s ready. You both are.”

 

It seemed a little bit as though the world weren’t real, that Graves stepped forward and opened the front door to the Goldsteins’ apartment in a dream. He didn’t dare look up from the floor, shut the door behind him in a daze and stared down at his own shoes and the tip of his cane.

 

He could feel the presence of another in the room thanks to his highly trained auror senses, though the air was thick with tension and anticipation.

 

He finally had the courage to look up, and-

 

The world gave out from underneath him, his bad leg seizing as he fell to his knees, cane clattering to the ground.

 

Upon seeing Credence – soft, warm, healthy with glowing cheeks and his dark hair curling beneath his jaw, almost tumbling down to his shoulders – the guilt that he’d been waiting for for months finally hit him like a physical weight.

 

The guilt that he’d foisted off onto Grindelwald, telling himself every day that it was that man’s fault that he ruined Credence and nearly got him killed. But really, he’d been holding back the bone-deep ache that tore him up inside, the ache that let him know it was _his_ fault.

 

He had let Credence down, betrayed this boy, and _everything_ was his fault.

 

“I’m sorry,” he gasped out, something grabbing his throat from the inside, not letting him speak clearly. “I’m so sorry, Credence. I let you down, I’m sorry.”

 

The silence was overwhelming, thick with something unknowable, and Graves closed his eyes against the tears that welled up and fell down his face. He couldn’t bear to look at Credence, didn’t feel worthy to, not after all he’d put his boy through.

 

He just kneeled on the floor, waiting for Credence’s judgement.

 

Soft footsteps emerged from the direction of the sofa, padding towards Graves. Soon the footsteps stopped, and Credence’s sock-covered feet stopped just inches away from Graves’ knees. Graves swallowed, and waited.

 

Then Credence lowered himself to his knees in front of Graves, reached out a hand – pale but warm, and so soft – and tipped Graves’ chin up.

 

His breath left his body at the small, gentle smile on Credence’s face, tipping his lips up and transforming his face – something that Graves had mostly only seen twisted into fear and trepidation – into the boy that Graves had always imagined that he could be. From the first time he had seen Credence and felt the urge to bring him out of his shell, to teach him and help him reach his potential, this had always been what he had seen in his mind.

 

And Credence had reached that point himself, with his own sheer force of will.

 

He looked good. His pale skin was warm and healthy, with high spots of pink on his cheekbones. He looked older, more mature, no longer a scared boy trapped beneath his abusive mother’s thumb. The sweater he wore was hand-knitted, navy blue and long enough that it covered his knuckles. His hair was longer, curling around his face and he’d pushed it back behind his ear on one side.

 

The boy’s dark eyes scoured over Graves’ face, cataloguing similarities and differences.

 

“I’m sorry, Credence,” he couldn’t help but breathe out again, all pride and composure finally slipped from his frame like he hadn’t thought he was capable of.

 

Instead of blaming him, instead of pushing Graves away with disgusted eyes and harsh words, Credence instead wiped the tear from Graves’ face with a thumb against his cheekbone.

 

“It’s okay, Mr. Graves,” Credence whispered. “You have nothing to apologise for.”

 

“I let you down, I let- I let him take you, and- it’s all my fault,” he breathed, close to sobbing but holding onto the last dregs of his pride.

 

Credence, in a mirror of the past, cupped Graves’ face in his hand and leaned forward until their foreheads touched.

 

“It’s not your fault,” Credence said, breath tickling across Graves’ lips. “But if you need to hear it, I forgive you.”

 

His body gave out entirely, and Graves fell forward into Credence’s waiting arms, letting the boy hold him up while he grasped the back of Credence’s sweater in a white-knuckled grip and sobbed. He felt Credence’s hand sliding up and down between his shoulderblades in a soothing movement, (and maybe everything the boy knew about comfort he’d learned from Graves), and the other came up to rest on the nape of Graves’ neck, warm and grounding, fingertips scritching lightly in his hairline, letting Graves know that he was here.

 

Eventually Graves pulled himself together enough to pull back from where he’d buried his face in Credence’s neck, not feeling any embarrassment or shame at having near soaked the boy’s sweater through. The amount of times that Credence had cried and seeked comfort the same way, it was only fair that Graves should show him that trust too.

 

His leg was aching and screaming at him from their position on the hardwood floor, but he didn’t let that stop him from enjoying the moment of finally, _finally_ , being with Credence again. Something about the boy’s presence insinuated a calm into Graves’ chest, like a raging storm or turbulent ocean within him was brought to heel just by his proximity. Like the tempest within him was silenced, and he was floating peacefully on calm waters with only the stars and wind for company. Something _settled_ within him.

 

It was like coming home.

 

Graves unhooked a hand from the back of Credence’s sweater and brought it up to the boy’s face, fingertips hovering not even an inch above his skin, waiting as always for Credence’s permission. He simply blinked his dark eyes, and Graves moved his hand forward to cup Credence’s jaw.

 

The reaction was instantaneous: Credence’s eyes fluttered shut, thick lashes kissing his cheekbones, and he let out a breath that seemed to have been held in his chest for months. He turned his face into the palm and simply let himself be held, trusted that Graves would keep him safe and upright, and that faith floored him. After everything Credence had been through, after the betrayal at his and Grindelwald’s hands, he still trusted Graves.

 

“You extraordinary boy,” Graves breathed out, words slipping from his lips before he could stop them. But Credence didn’t freeze up or flush as he had in the past. He simply smiled (just the slightest curl of his lips, barely anything really) and nuzzled further into the hand that held his head up. Graves wondered if he would ever stop being surprised by him.

 

He then moved his hand, sliding it along Credence’s jaw to the back of his head and tangled his fingers into Credence’s curls, and used the grip to bring the boy forward so his forehead rested on Graves’ shoulder. Their positions switched, but back to what they were used to, Credence let out another long-held breath. His body melted into Graves’, and he all but collapsed onto his lap.

 

In the past, Graves would have been able to very easily pick Credence up and move them both onto the sofa, but his bad leg had gone entirely numb, and attempting to do so now would’ve been a disaster. Instead he just ran his hand through Credence’s hair, fingers rubbing circles into the boy’s skull, while his other arm wrapped around Credence’s waist. He would wait here as long as he needed to until Credence was ready to pull back. He was the calm in the eye of the storm, the weathered monastery that had stood the test of time and forever would, and he was _home_.

 

Time passed, though neither of them would probably be able to say how long it was. Seconds and minutes and hours became inconsequential, because the only thing that mattered was settling into each others orbit again, the space around their bodies giving way to each other, the gentle brush of dry lips that Graves pressed behind Credence’s ear. Credence did shudder at that, but instead of pulling away he just tightened his fingers in the back of Graves’ coat.

 

There was some movement out on the landing outside the apartment, somewhat breaking the spell that the two of them had been put under. Graves turned to look at the door, silently hoping that Queenie and Tina weren’t about to enter, but the door remained closed.

 

“I told Queenie that we might be a while,” Credence murmured, his lips brushing against the skin of Graves’ neck. “I think she and Tina are probably going to go and get some food.”

 

Something tightened in Graves’ chest at that, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut to stop them from watering again.

 

“I’m surprised you trust me enough to ask them to leave,” he replied, voice hushed and quiet within the silent apartment. Credence jerked back to look at Graves again, brow furrowed into a small frown. Graves wanted to take his thumb and smooth the crease between his brows out.

 

“Of course I trust you,” Credence said. He reached a hand up and traced a fingertip down the side of Graves’ face, following the line of the thin, winding scar there. “I’ve always trusted you, Mr. Graves. It was _him_ I didn’t trust. And he is not you.”

 

Graves swallowed thickly. “But you thought he was,” he whispered. “And that nearly cost you your life. You thought it was me. He made you… he made you think that I was capable of ever hurting you.” Unable to keep looking Credence in the eye, Graves instead looked at his lips, waiting for them to move with Credence’s response. He was also trying desperately to resist the urge to lean forward and kiss them, but now wasn’t the time for that.

 

Credence bit his lip, his ever-present nervous habit soothing something worried inside Graves.

 

“I think… on some level, I knew it wasn’t you,” Credence admitted into the space between them. “The whole time, with Modesty and the- the Obscurus- I was thinking _he wouldn’t do this to me_. Because I trust you, Mr. Graves, and I always have. I always will. It was _him_ I didn’t trust, and that made everything easier. I don’t think I could have come back if it really had been you.”

 

Graves couldn’t help but smile, unable to name the maelstrom of emotions welling up in his chest. The smile slipped off his face however when his leg spasmed painfully, and he hissed with gritted teeth, bringing a hand down to his thigh.

 

Credence immediately pulled back, though he kept his hands on Graves’ biceps, and looked down to his leg with concern.

 

“Are you alright?” Credence asked, clearly a little thrown by what he should do. Graves smiled tightly at him and rubbed his thigh as though that would stop the pain.

 

“Fine, Credence,” he replied. “Though this is clearly a bad position for my leg. Sofa?” Credence all but scrambled to his feet, helping Graves up with one hand and passing him his fallen cane with the other. For a few seconds he stared at the cane as though he’d never seen one before, fingers starkly pale against the dark ebony of polished wood and the silver handle.

 

It was a struggle to make his way over to the sofa, especially considering that his leg was pulsing with the sensation of a thousand humming needles as the blood rushed back into everything, broken areas and all. Graves all but collapsed onto the sofa and Credence sat next to him, pulling his legs up so he could tuck his feet beneath himself, like he was making himself smaller. It felt exactly like all those months ago when Credence visited Graves’ home.

 

The only difference was that this time Credence didn’t hesitate in wrapping his hands around Graves’ forearm, keeping the both of them grounded with touch. It was a little bittersweet to see how much he’d changed without Graves being there to see it all. With the arm that wasn’t currently immobilised by Credence, Graves idly rubbed his thigh.

 

“What happened?” Credence asked. Graves looked over to him in surprise, sure that Tina had told the boy everything. “I was told that he held you for months and attacked your team but… how did that happen?”

 

Graves blinked a few times, not even noticing that his hands had balled into fists.

 

“We received news that a group of no-majs had been attacked,” he began. “It was barely minutes after the attack, and we’d never been informed so quickly before. Lizzie has a type of Native magic that can track spells and apparitions, but only a for a limited time after the magic has been cast, or it is too dispersed to follow.”

 

He kept an eye on Credence to make sure that he was understanding, and Credence nodded for him to continue.

 

“It was also the same night we received word of something or someone that had attacked a nearby subway station,” Graves said, words heavy. Credence blinked a few times, knowing exactly what he was talking about. “I… I couldn’t abandon my team to potentially face Grindelwald alone.”

 

Credence flinched infinitesimally at the name, but Graves continued on.

 

“I told myself that right after we had dealt with the situation I would come back and make sure that you were alright,” Graves said, once again unable to keep eye contact with Credence as the guilt overwhelmed him. “I’d never seen you like that before. I was worried. But I had a job to do, and told myself that you would be okay in the meantime.”

 

He had to pause, and swallow thickly. Credence tightened his grip on Graves’ forearm and rubbed his thumb across the fabric of his coat, indicating for him to keep going. Graves hadn’t told anyone the full story, only Karin, and then only the abbreviated version.

 

“We arrived at the scene not ten minutes after the attack and- one of our own was amongst the dead,” he said, images of Ngahere’s corpse and blank eyes flashing across his vision. “It was intended to rile us up, make us reckless, and it worked. L tracked the spell and we all followed, right into Grindelwald’s trap. He threw us all back with magic, and when I landed I snapped my shin.”

 

Even just saying the words made his bones throb in remembered agony.

 

“We duelled, but Grindelwald’s power was like nothing I had ever gone up against,” Graves admitted. “He overpowered me. Something about his wand made him more powerful than any of us had anticipated. When I woke up, I was paralysed and unable to perform magic. He transformed himself into my image and then- then- he tried to enter my mind.”

 

He saw Credence frowning out of the corner of his eye, and the boy’s hands came down to tangle with Graves’, their fingers slotting together easily. He could feel Credence’s pulse through the thin skin of his wrist.

 

“Like Queenie?” the boy asked.

 

Graves couldn’t help the bitter laugh that escaped his lips. “Nothing like her, Credence. Queenie is a natural Legilimens, she can listen in on the thoughts of an unprotected mind. My defenses, however, are stronger than most. Breaking into another’s mind, shattering those barriers, is a violation of unimaginable horror.” His voice had dropped to a whisper, and Credence had to curl closer to be able to hear him. “Grindelwald couldn’t get into my mind, because I knew that once he did he would know all about my team and about you.”

 

Graves closed his eyes and shuddered at what happened next, and vaguely he recognised that he was entirely dissociating from himself as he recounted the events.

 

“So he broke my femur into pieces,” he said. “The pain- the agony- was enough of a distraction for him to thrust his way into my mind. Like a cyclone, he tore up everything inside me, plucked out the information he needed and ripped the pages out of my mind if they were useless. By the end of it I couldn’t even think.”

 

Credence made a pained noise like an injured animal and curled even further forward, resting his head on Graves’ shoulder, tightening his grip on Graves’ hand to an almost painful degree.

 

“I nearly went mad,” Graves admitted, whispering the words into the still air. “The only reason I didn’t was because of you. Because I knew that Grindelwald was using you for something, and I needed to remain alive to make sure you were okay. Eventually he stopped visiting, and the potion wore off. I was weak and nearly dead but I managed to send a patronus message to Seraphina before passing out. When I woke up I was in a hospital bed.”

 

The silence was all consuming after that, and Credence let go of Graves’ hand so he could properly burrow into Graves’ side. Graves used the now free arm to wrap around Credence’s shoulders, keeping the boy pressed there, feeling him breathe. Every horror he had been through was worth it to have this again.

 

Eventually, though, Credence spoke.

 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I couldn’t have done anything, but I’m sorry.”

 

And _Merlin_ , Graves was thankful for Queenie and Tina Goldstein. Because he doubted that Credence would have been so forgiving of himself if he hadn’t had those two to tell him that there were those who had the job of rooting out dark wizards, and they hadn’t been able to discover Grindelwald within their midst, didn’t notice that their Director had been kidnapped and held captive for months. If they couldn’t do anything about it, how could Credence have?

 

“Thank you,” Graves said, pulling Credence even closer, pressing a kiss to his hair.

 

When he had first entered the room, Graves had been high-strung and nervous, his heart fluttering quickly and about to burst its way out of his chest. Every nerve had been singing and his hands had been shaking, but now he was exhausted. He was peaceful and tired, and the tears and conversation had wore him down completely, not to mention the pain in his leg.

 

Credence’s breathing was slowing against his side, and he got the distinct feeling that Credence was just as exhausted from it all as he was. But Graves also got the feeling that Credence, like himself, wasn't willing to say goodbye just yet.

 

So with a little manoeuvring and malleability on Credence’s part, Graves stretched out along the sofa until he was comfortably lying on his back, one arm bent behind his head to act like a pillow. Credence was breathing slowly as if already in sleep from where he lay between Graves’ legs, his head pillowed on his hands that were folded on Graves’ chest.

 

Graves wrapped an arm around Credence’s shoulders again just to make sure he was still there, and quickly succumbed to sleep.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
> 
> ^ That's all I'm going to say on the matter. Feel free to expand in the comments section.
> 
> (Also, entirely unrelated, if you're a BTS fan please yell about YNWA with me!)


	9. IX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our boys finally sort some stuff out, and we find out what's up with Credence's Obscurus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, ya'll! I've been so busy since uni started back up, and I just got out of hospital yesterday and haven't proof read this chapter so if there's more errors in it than usual it's because I've still got a shit ton of meds in my system, but I wanted to get this out as soon as I could!

* * *

  

Blinking his eyes open the next morning was nothing short of confusing. The last time Graves had awoken somewhere that wasn’t his bedroom had been the hospital wing at Jackson Memorial, and before that, the cell that Grindelwald kept him in. The initial jolt of terror faded quickly though as he came to remember two things.

 

One, he was in the Goldsteins’ apartment, as evidenced by the excess of peach coloured floral patterns _everywhere_ and the clinking of china coming from his right.

 

Two, there was a young man asleep in his arms that Graves was terribly infatuated with.

 

He couldn’t stop the tiny smile from appearing on his face as he reached down to move the hair off Credence’s face from where it had fallen in his sleep, and pushed the strands behind the boy’s ear. Credence shifted and sighed, lips parted ever so slightly from his position on Graves’ chest. Graves allowed himself a few moments of unrepentant staring at the gentle features before him and the way the morning sun made Credence all but glow.

 

Turning his head, Graves noticed that both Queenie and Tina had stopped what they were doing to stare at them. He raised a brow and Tina immediately flushed and busied herself with preparing breakfast, but Queenie just grinned and winked.

 

“Mornin’, sir,” Queenie murmured just quietly enough for the sound to carry through the room but not wake Credence. Graves nodded in reply and turned back to the sleepy pile of Barebone in his arms. The clock on the wall let Graves know that it was just past seven a.m., and that he would have to be heading to work soon. It looked as though the Goldsteins were setting the table for four, but he still needed a change of clothes and his files from home. Not for the first time, he considered setting up some transfiguration spells on his clothes – it would save him time and money. But he was reluctant to wake Credence up from his peaceful sleep, considering how rare it probably was for Credence.

 

Graves did his best to manoeuvre his way off the couch without waking Credence, but coming from an abusive household meant waking up at the drop of a hat. Credence jolted awake with wide eyes and fingers like claws, and Graves had to run a hand through his hair to calm him, like a startled animal.

 

“It’s okay, Credence,” he murmured, moving his hand from Credence’s hair to his jaw, stroking along the curve of his cheekbone which was rapidly flushing red beneath his attention. Queenie giggled from across the room, and Graves rolled his eyes at her. Credence looked like he wanted to shrink away from the contact now that he realised they had an audience of sorts, but Graves placed a hand on his shoulder, not to keep him but to calm him.

 

Tina spoke up then. “Breakfast?” she asked. Graves turned to see a pile of warm, soft pancakes stacked up in the middle of their small table, surrounded by little bowls of berries or lemon juice and sugar. The smell sent Graves straight back to weekend mornings at Ilvermorny where they’d all rush down to get something that wasn’t porridge, cereal or biscuits for breakfast.

 

Credence swallowed thickly and untangled himself from Graves on the couch, though he stumbled a little when he stood up. Graves steadied him with hands on the boy’s hips, and couldn’t help the smirk at Credence’s flushing cheeks. He might be getting better at general physical contact but it was clear that anything even slightly more intimate was completely new ground for him.

 

They all settled at the table, a steaming hot cup of coffee passed to him by Tina, and they all dug in. Graves rubbed his leg under the table and knew that he’d have to get home and take his pain potions soon.

 

“Sorry to have imposed on you last night,” Graves said once he’d had enough coffee to form sentences. “It wasn’t my intention.”

 

“That’s alright, Mr. Graves,” Queenie piped up with a smile, resting her chin on her hand. “We came back and you were both dead to the world. I didn’t wanna wake you, not when you were both so peaceful, so we just let you sleep. I think you both needed it.”

 

Graves ran a hand through his hair, wondering how sleep mussed it looked. “Thank you,” he replied. “I haven’t been sleeping well recently.”

 

“Neither,” Tina admitted with a shrug. “Lotta nightmares and all. We’re workin’ through it, though. Queenie’s good at waking us up if it gets too bad.”

 

Credence nodded at her words, and Graves was nearly overwhelmed with gratitude for Queenie Goldstein. The meal was pleasant and Graves was enjoying the foreign comfort of eating so early in the morning with others, of being able to have relaxed conversation about nothing in particular. It had been… years since he’d done anything of the sort, and he was disappointed when the clock ticked over to eight a.m. and he had to leave.

 

They packed up all the dishes and Graves put on his coat from where it’d fallen to the ground sometime last night – it was a bit of a blur, trying to remember what happened after he entered the room and saw Credence alive and well. Tina and Queenie headed into their bedroom to change and it left Credence and Graves standing together by the front door.

 

“Would you like this to be regular, Credence?” Graves asked. “Meeting again?”

 

Credence nodded, and now he really was taller than Graves, no longer hunching his shoulders or doing his best to look small. Graves had to look up just the slightest to make eye contact with him now. Credence was in a safe environment, one that he trusted implicitly enough to unfurl to his true height, and it made Graves feel a little less reluctant about leaving.

 

“Are you going to the bakery today, honey?” Queenie called out through the bedroom door to Credence, who chewed on his bottom lip for a few moments, pondering it.

 

“I think so,” he called back, quietly but just loud enough for Queenie to hear. Graves smiled.

 

“Are you enjoying working with Mr. Kowalski?” he asked. Credence nodded. Graves wasn’t sure whether the boy was just quieter in the mornings or whether he felt too nervous to say anything around Graves now that they’d woken up in each others arms, not sure where they stood together. Graves didn’t want Credence feeling awkward around him at all, or unsure. He wanted his presence to be like the Goldstein flat – somewhere safe where Credence could relax.

 

He reached out and lightly took Credence’s wrist, feeling the fine bones beneath his skin, his pulse hammering away beneath the skin.

 

“Would it be okay if I came to see you on my break?” Graves asked. “At the bakery?”

 

Credence stared straight at him as though trying to ascertain whether Graves was genuinely asking or if he was telling a joke. He squeezed Credence’s wrist, trying to convey the message that he wouldn’t be hurt or offended if Credence didn’t feel comfortable having visitors at his part-time job.

 

He was silent for so long that Graves was beginning to wonder if he’d made a mistake, if this was all moving too fast for Credence. It was one thing to fall asleep together after the emotionally charged exhaustion of the previous night, but midnight couldn’t hide them any longer. They were exposed in the morning sun.

 

Eventually, though, Credence parted his lips to reply ever so softly.

 

“I’d like that, Mr. Graves,” he said. Graves didn’t stop the grin that took over his face, and Credence flushed again – and, oh, maybe the nerves weren’t about Credence’s recent unfamiliarity with him, but the adrenaline of realising that Graves was _interested._

 

And, well, he wouldn’t make a move on Credence despite his months old promise, not until the boy moved first. And if he never moved, Graves would accept that, but judging by the flutter of Credence’s eyelashes he had suspicions that his own feelings were reciprocated (even if it was a little more complicated on Credence’s end, with the evil doppelgänger and all).

 

Slowly, as slowly as he had moved the first time he had touched Credence, Graves cupped Credence’s jaw in his hands and used it to tilt the boy’s head forward so he could press a kiss to his forehead. Where before his lips had encountered soft bangs, Credence’s hair had grown out enough that he instead pressed a kiss on his skin. He pulled back to see Credence swallow thickly.

 

“I’ll see you at our regular time, Credence,” Graves said as a farewell, before stepping into the hallway and apparating to his home.

 

Once inside he all but collapsed to the floor, bad leg seizing up so painfully he had to grit his teeth against the pained yell that threatened to pass his lips. He crouched on the floor, fingers digging into the carpet, breathing through the agony that came in throbbing waves throughout his thigh, reverberating down his calf to where he could almost feel the old split in it.

 

When he could finally concentrate, Graves apparated up to his bedroom, cane clattering to the floorboards as he reached up to grope blindly on his nightstand. He found one of his vials and tipped it back, slumping over as the potion immediately took hold and seemed to swirl straight down to his leg, the agony fading into a physical numbness, _bliss._

 

On his bedroom floor in a wrinkled suit with an inability to get to his feet without help, Graves allowed himself a few seconds of absolute self-loathing.

 

Of course he could blame Grindelwald. Most people would.

 

But he couldn’t help but blame himself, run through a million impossible scenarios where things were different, where he’d been able to fight back, been able to do _anything_ rather than uselessly allow his team to be killed or irreparably injured, or allowing Grindelwald to use Credence for months, or the hundreds of other ways his life had been fucked up in the last few months.

 

_His fault._

 

Director Percival Graves of MACUSA – what a joke.

 

And then the sickle burned warmed in his breast pocket, over his heart, and Graves snapped himself out of it. He summoned his cane and hauled himself to his feet, physically shaking himself and compartmentalising everything. It was natural to have set backs and moments of overwhelming negative emotion. It was expected.

 

It… was something he was to see Karin about whenever it occurred.

 

Resigning himself to the inevitable, Graves changed into a new suit and brushed his teeth, making sure his appearance screamed authority, and then headed into Jackson Memorial. The receptionist let him know that Karin was up on the mind-healer ward, and he located her within minutes. It helped that her voice carried down hallways, and her English accent was easier to discern than the varying American accents that filled the building.

 

He leaned casually against the doorway of the ward Karin was in, her back to him as she spoke to a semicircle of interns who were all excited and a little terrified. Karin Michel had a reputation much like Graves – she was fair, but didn’t tolerate subpar work or disrespect. Though she was slightly less scary than Graves, apparently, as the interns looked from her to him and paled.

 

She stopped in the middle of her sentence and stared at the silent forms of her students.

 

“Percival, are you glowering?” she asked, not even turning around.

 

Graves smirked, and some of the interns shrank back. “It’s not intentional, Karin, I promise.”

 

He _felt_ her eyes rolling, and bit the inside of his cheek to stop the laughter that threatened to bubble out. He was, however, quite pleased that he still had such a reputation even with the scar and cane, and it did a little to help his previous meltdown.

 

“Is it an emergency, Percival, or can it wait?” she asked, finally turning to look at him. A few of the interns swallowed nervously. Graves looked down at his watch, knowing that he had to be at work soon.

  
“It’s not urgent, but I was hoping to speak with you before I headed in to M-Sec,” he replied. They were well versed enough in each other for Karin to pick up on his meaning, and she whirled around to her interns on the point of her heel.

 

“I need to speak with Director Graves for a moment,” she said, voice changing from teasing to stern so fast it gave the interns whiplash. Graves smirked, knowing exactly where he’d gotten it from. “You all know what you are to do. Don’t interrupt us unless it’s an emergency. Am I clear?”

 

“Yes ma’am,” the interns chorused like soldiers. Karin couldn’t quite hide her smirk as she power walked out of the room, leaving the interns to flail. She slowed down once she left the ward so Graves could keep pace with her, and he let out a chuckle.

 

“You love keeping them in fear of you, don’t you?” he asked.

 

Karin’s right eyebrow flew up as she turned to look at him. “This accusation coming from _you_?” she replied. “That’s pot calling the kettle black if I’ve ever seen it.”

 

“I’m the director of Magical Security,” Graves said. “You’re a healer. Chief Mind-Healer, but still a healer. You aren’t meant to be scary, Karin, you’re meant to be approachable.”

 

“I’m plenty approachable,” she snapped, holding her office door open for Graves to enter. He smirked as he smoothly sat down in the plush armchair waiting for him, and Karin locked the door behind them and settled into the seat next to him, rather than the one across her desk. She conjured up what looked to be terrible coffee in a disposable cup from the cafeteria, and Graves wrinkled his nose at it despite the fact that MACUSA coffee wasn’t much better.

 

“What brings you here today, Percival?” Karin asked, all stern matron gone from her voice as the kind grandmother appeared (despite the fact Karin had remained unmarried and childless her whole life). Graves ran a hand over the sickle in his pocket, a motion that Karin picked up on, and told her the events of the last twenty-four hours. She grinned at the mention of Credence and he had to turn from the proud look in her eye when he recounted their conversation on the Goldsteins’ living room floor. She was concerned but understanding when he told her of the depression that had overcome him just minutes before, and she reached out to hold his hand.

  
“You know that you aren’t going to recover immediately from this,” Karin comforted. “As I’ve said before, you may not ever fully recover. You know that it doesn’t do any good to dwell on what-ifs and how it could have been, because what is, is. And despite how you may feel about yourself sometimes, you know that you have a group of people around you who accept and love who you are.”

 

The words echoed through the decades, until Graves once again felt like a fifteen-year-old boy sitting in an Ilvermorny hospital bed being comforted by the head matron. He wondered how many times Karin would have to deliver him these exact platitudes before he learned from them.

 

“And I can see your brain ticking away, Percival,” she interrupted, squeezing his fingers tight. “This is different from your father, so don’t try and compare that to this. The coping mechanisms may be similar, yes, but the situation is entirely new. It’s okay to need to re-learn some things you have no longer needed.”

 

Graves swallowed back his immediate denial and forced himself to think her words through. Karin was _always_ right. Knowing that they could go in circles about the topic at hand for days, Graves swiftly changed it.

 

“I’m concerned about Credence,” he said, and Karin took the abrupt shift with ease. “He’s recovering well, but physically and magically I’m not sure how he’s doing. He’s an Obscurial, Karin, and unfortunately none of us know anything about them. We still don’t understand how he survived so long, and we don’t know whether he still has the Obscurus inside of him or how strong it is.”

 

“You want me to look him over,” Karin extrapolated.

 

Graves nodded. “Not immediately, not until Credence is comfortable with it,” he said. “But if he still has the Obscurus within him we need to know if it’s harming him and if it can do any more damage. If he’s able to control it or dispel it entirely.”

 

Karin hummed and looked over at the bookshelves that covered an entire wall of her office, absolutely crammed with both no-maj and magical medical tomes. That particular expression on her face meant she was curious about something and wasn’t going to stop until she figured it out.

 

“I’ll put you in touch with Mr. Scamander,” Graves said, getting to his feet as his watch told him he had two minutes before he needed to be at work. “Thank you, Karin.”

 

She smiled and grasped his hand again, and then Graves was off to work.

 

Tina was still – _still_ – in negotiations about Grindelwald, though it was looking like they might take him back to Europe. His attacks on American soil had been numerous but he had more to own up for in Europe, more lives taken and destruction caused. Kira and L settled in well, partnering up on all their cases to make up for things that were more difficult with their injuries and maladies.

 

Graves made his way to his office and all but barricaded himself in, sorting through the near literal mountains of paperwork that had made its way onto his desk. Some were just forms he had to sign as a superior, others were requisition forms. Occasionally he had to fill out something in triplicate, or give a witness statement, and he barely noticed when the clock on his desk (not the warning one) chimed to let him know it was his lunch break. He left MACUSA as quickly as possible and apparated a block away from Kowalski’s bakery.

 

Upon arrival he noticed the number of no-majs peering inside the bakery windows was quite substantial, and he wondered how Credence inside was handling it. Even with the cane the no-majs moved aside for him without a word uttered on his account, and he entered the bakery. There were only a few customers actually milling about inside, peering at all the interesting shapes of the pastries.

 

Tina had brought him a few, but this was the first time seeing the bakery in its entirety, and it was charming. The creatures that Kowalski created jumped right out of Graves’ old Ilvermorny textbooks, though a few of them were unfamiliar. The man himself, who Graves hadn’t met in person yet, was smiling as he simultaneously kneaded some dough, gave orders to the assistants out the back, and packed food for customers.

 

He was grinning just as widely as Queenie Goldstein did, and it was almost as infectious; the smile of someone who was overjoyed with where they were at their current moment. His smile didn’t even falter when he thanked his customer and switched his gaze over to Graves, who would probably have made quite an interesting sight decked out all in black with a scar and cane in the middle of his brightly lit bakery.

 

“Anything I can get ya?” Jacob asked, that smile still on his face, still as genuine as it was since the second Graves had seen it. He thought that perhaps it was why he and Queenie got along so well. They were very similar.

 

Graves smiled as softly as he was able and to the best of his memory. “Two of the demiguise pretzels, and Credence Barebone, if you don’t mind,” he replied. Jacob paused for a second, looked Graves up and down, and nodded.

 

“You must be Mr. Graves,” he said. “I’ve heard a lot about you from… well, everyone! All good things, I promise.” Jacob turned to the back room and called out softly for Credence, and a few seconds later the young man popped his head around the corner. His hair was just long enough to tie into a small ponytail at the nape of his neck, a few strands curling around his face, a little bit of flour on the edge of his jaw and looking relaxed and at home.

 

That he had two places he could feel so at ease – the Goldsteins’ and the bakery – made Graves grateful, but also twisted the dagger into his heart that his home could have been one of those places too if not for Grindelwald.

 

Upon seeing Graves, Credence smiled softly and pulled the apron off from around his neck and waist, folding it carefully and placing it on the bench.

 

“Is it alright if I-?” Credence asked, awkwardly trailing off at the end. Jacob seemed to know what he was after because he made shooing motions with his hands, passing Credence two bagged pretzels, his smile cheeky the entire time. Credence was almost like an excited rabbit as he made his way around the counter and left the store with Graves. They quickly pushed their way through the crowd outside and went down the street, finding somewhere that was out of the path of others.

 

Sitting down on the stairs of a seemingly empty building, Graves and Credence watched the world go by as they ate their pastries. Graves would break off a bite at a time, the bread soft and fluffy and the icing that made up the demiguise’s pelt sugary and sweet.

 

“Did you make these?” he asked, and Credence nodded. “They’re delicious, you’ve really improved.”

  
Credence blushed at the praise, and murmured a thank you. They ate in comfortable silence, enjoying the relaxation of sitting in the sun as the world continued on by them. It felt like early morning still despite the rush of people heading to and from their lunch breaks, and Graves breathed in the crisp air.

 

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” he said, turning to face Credence once he’d finished his pastry. He flicked his fingers in a quick _muffliato_ as per usual to conceal their conversation, something that Credence took particular interest to.

 

“What about?” Credence asked, sounding a little worried. Graves reached out to brush his fingertips across the exposed skin of Credence’s wrist, watching the thin hairs there raise up slightly at the touch.

 

“We are both recovering from what happened to us,” Graves started, not bothered by the fact that Credence chose to watch the back-and-forth of his fingers on the boy’s wrist than make eye contact. “For me the physical recovery is over, and I have only the psychological side to overcome. You’re making strides with the Goldsteins, but I’m worried about you physically, as well as your magical core.”

 

Credence did look up at those words with a frown. “Magical core?” he asked.

 

“It’s rather like… the source of our magic,” Graves explained, drawing from his Ilvermorny textbooks. “If our core is in good health, then our magic is at its peak. If our core is affected by some ailment, then our magic and physical wellbeing is also affected, and vice versa. Tina told me that you said you re-formed after the incident in the subway?”

 

He nodded.

 

“The thing is, Credence, and I’m not sure if you’ve been told this, but the reason Grindelwald didn’t suspect you of having the Obscurus is because Obscurials are rare enough as is, but they _never_ live past the age of ten,” Graves informed him. “The Obscurus simply gets too powerful for the host, and the magical core begins to feed on the mind and body for sustenance until the host is entirely devoured by the Obscurus. Without a host, the Obscurus cannot survive, and it dies too.”

 

He looked at Credence carefully, watching the strands of his hair blow in the wind, musing on the fact that this brilliant boy had somehow overcome everything life threw at him – not just his family or situation, but the fact that he withstood a parasitical magical force that was eating him from the inside out and survived as long as he had, and then used his Obscurus to stay alive. It was entirely unheard of, even back in Salem days when Obscurials were more common.

 

“You’re worried that I’m still at risk,” Credence extrapolated, looking down in thought. Almost idly, though no physical contact Credence initiated could ever be called idle, he picked up Graves’ fingers and twined them with his own, rubbing his fingerprints against Graves’.

 

“Yes,” Graves said, no preamble. “None of us can be sure if you’re still an Obscurial, and if you are, how we can make your Obscurus safe for both yourself and others. It is entirely unexplored, and I… wouldn’t want to lose you, not so soon after getting you back.”

 

Swallowing thickly, Credence locked eyes with Graves, the darks of his irises seeming neverending and full of shadows.

 

“What do you suggest, Mr. Graves?” he asked.

 

“When you’re ready, I would like for you to see a good friend of mine, Healer Karin Michel,” Graves said, enjoying the small sparks the physical contact with Credence brought about. “I have known her almost my entire life and trust her implicitly. She was the one who first noticed my injuries when I was in school, and the one who started the inquiry to have myself removed from my father’s care.”

 

Credence’s gaze was almost a physical thing, a heavy weight that bore into Graves’ soul as he admitted openly what he had only hinted at in the past. He thought he owed Credence that much at least, letting him know that he was not alone in his situation or his recovery, and that it was possible to overcome it.

 

“Your father?” Credence asked quietly, as though he was reluctant to speak the words but needed to know.

 

“Was a very well-known and connected man,” Graves began. Distance and time had made the memories all but fade like they had happened to someone else if he tried, and made it easier to speak about. “The names of the original twelve aurors of MACUSA are notable and respected in American wizarding community, one of whom being my ancestor, Gondolphus Graves. The Graves name has always held weight within politics, and my father was no less influential than I am now.”

 

He paused, gathering himself. “It would have been the end of Karin’s career entirely had she been incorrect about the inquiry, accusing a man like Solomon Graves of abusing his only son,” he all but whispered. Only Seraphina and Karin knew the full story, along with some of his professors from Ilvermorny.

 

“She pieced it all together. The injuries, the scars, the skittish behaviour and the fact that I barely ever spoke,” Graves recounted, barely remembering a time when his throat hurt from speaking because he did it so rarely. “I was fifteen when I was removed from his care and he was quietly arrested. The entire thing was kept quiet so that it might not follow me around, and within a year I began to excel in my studies. Within two I was top of my grade.”

 

He took a few moments to breathe and remember what he’d actually begun this conversation for.

 

“The point is, Credence, is that Karin is the one person outside of my team that I trust with my life,” Graves said, tightening his grip just a little on Credence’s fingers. “I would not be here today without her. I would like, when you are ready, for her to make sure that you are suffering no after effects of the Obscurus and from what happened in the subway.”

 

Credence went silent in thought, staring out at the world passing them by, pedestrians and cars and the occasional horse-drawn carriage. He still kept his grip on Graves’ hand, and Graves was pleased that he’d remembered to apply a notice-me-not spell to the both of them, as Credence was peering rather hard at the people who passed, as though hoping to get inside their heads to ask their opinion.

 

Eventually, though, he turned back to Graves.

 

“Alright,” he said. “I- Ma never took us to doctors. Said the Lord would provide and protect.”

 

“And I’m sure he does, Credence,” Graves replied. “But some things are not to be taken so literally. He may not send food to your doorstep or heal an illness, but perhaps he sent Tina to you.”

 

Credence looked a little stunned at Graves’ words, and mulled them over for a bit, before his expression settled into one of such profound peace that Graves was actually taken aback. The rest of their lunch break was spent in comfortable silence, and Graves gave Credence another gentle kiss on the forehead before he went back to the bakery.

 

Just under a week later, Credence consented to visiting Karin for a check up, and Graves enjoyed the look of wide-eyed wonder on his face as they apparated into the hospital. The wards were normally filled with all sorts of interesting inflictions and reactions from backfiring experimental potions, and Graves could only wonder how strange it would all look to someone so unused to such overt signs of magic, even after staying with the Goldstein sisters.

 

Graves gently rest the palm of his hand on Credence’s back, steering the boy through the hospital hallways but also as a source of comfort. Credence had nearly entirely gotten over his fear of magic, ever since Tina saved him from his mother and Graves began to heal his wounds, but his anxiety in large crowds was still very much an issue. The hallways weren’t exactly crowded, but they were filled with more strange and unusual people than Credence was used to.

 

Ushering the boy into Karin’s office, he watched as the tension in Credence’s shoulders seeped out almost immediately when the door closed behind them and sound-proofed the room. Karin, who knew they were arriving, was sitting at her desk, not a strand of her grey hair out of place, going over a few inter-departmental memos. She smiled as they entered, a smile that had the same effect on Credence as it had on a young Graves. One couldn’t help but trust her.

 

“You must be Credence,” she said, smooth English accent immediately settling the younger man at ease. “I’m Healer Karin Michel, though I’m sure Percival had already explained to you who I am.”

 

Karin didn’t hold her hand out to shake, and Credence twisted his fingers in a nervous fashion before him.

 

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied.

 

“Now, I won’t do anything you aren’t comfortable with, Credence,” Karin began. “I’ll explain what tests I’m performing every step of the way, and there won’t be anything invasive. I just need to take a look at your magical core and see if your Obscurus is having any ill effects on your body or mind as they’re reputed to have.”

 

Credence nodded, and brushed some hair behind his ear in a new nervous movement that Graves hadn’t seen before, so similar to what Finn used to do an ache materialised in his chest.

 

“What- what does that mean?” Credence asked.

 

Karin motioned for Graves to step forward, and he did. She waved her wand in a very peculiar fashion, and an aura began to glow around Graves’ body. It was a strong, pure white, though occasionally a thread of pulsing red would flow through it like a water snake. Karin motioned her wand upward, and the aura seemed to stretch upwards until it formed a calm sphere above Graves’ head.

 

The sphere glowed a blue-white in the room, like a bioluminescent jellyfish, and calmly swayed to and fro above him. He remembered the first time Karin had done this, back when she was Head Matron of Ilvermorny. His aura had been a terrified, grey little thing, and his magical core had been shriveled and pulsing with red fear. To see it now – to see only the smallest signs of Graves’ suffering upon the strong light of his aura – filled him with pride in his own recovery. He couldn’t have done it without Karin Michel, and he couldn’t have done that without finding his own inner strength.

 

“This is Percival’s magical core,” Karin explained, and Credence blinked a few times like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. It was the most _magical_ magic thing he’d seen, Graves supposed, in all these months.

 

“He has a near-perfect magical aura and core. The closer to white the aura is, the more stable the person is mentally. The occasional threads of red are to be expected in someone with Percival’s traumatic history, and we will likely find something similar in yours,” Karin began, motioning with her free hand. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s almost impossible to completely get rid of signs of abuse or torture in one’s aura.”

 

Credence nodded, mouth open slack as his nervously twitching fingers went completely still.

 

“The orb above Percival’s head is the representation of his magical core,” Karin said, a proud, motherly smile on her face. “These are usually coloured to represent the wizard or witch’s magical state, and the size indicates power level. The gentle swaying motion is expected of a magical core, as it means that the user is calm and stable. If it were erratically moving or utterly still, those would be reasons to be concerned. A core that pulses or vibrates is usually sign of immediate danger to both the wizard and those around.” With a flick of her wand, the aura and core disappeared entirely, and the room got a little bit dimmer.

 

“What-“ Credence stuttered. “What will mine look like?”

 

Graves reached out to place a hand on Credence’s shoulder.

 

“We cannot be sure, dear boy,” Karin said. “Normally I would imagine yours would look rather like Percival’s, when I first looked over him at Ilvermorny, but with an Obscurus eating away at your magical core, I cannot predict what it will look like. The most important thing is that you are stable, and it isn’t harming you. Beyond that, everything can be healed with time, therapy and training.”

 

The nod Credence gave was more of an awkward twitch than a real motion.

  
“Are you ready, Credence?” Graves asked, voice quiet in the silence office, and ran his hand down from Credence’s shoulder to the boy’s wrist. He somehow wasn’t surprised when Credence held his hand, though he would never cease to treasure every physical touch with him.

 

“I’m ready,” he all but breathed. Karin took a step back, waved her wand, and Credence shut his eyes. Graves remembered doing the same thing in school whenever he’d receive back a test he wasn’t sure how badly he’d done on, trying to delay the inevitable.

 

Credence’s aura was… not what Graves was expecting. In all honestly, he wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. Certainly not what seemed like white fog and grey smoke gently flitting between each other, reaching out like curious tendrils to the world around it. It was like… seeing the sun shine through fading stormclouds, and it didn’t incite the terror or concern that Graves thought it would. He squeezed Credence’s hand calmly, and the boy opened his eyes.

 

He brought his free hand out in front of him and turned it over this way and that, watching the fog-smoke drift across his skin. The occasional bright red stream would pulse through it, like crimson lightning in a dark sky.

 

Karin motioned upward, and Credence’s magical core popped up. Rather than a seething mass of pulsing red or the absolute void of an Obscurus, Credence’s core was much the same. It was like looking straight at a solar eclipse, shining a pure white on the outside yet a solid core of dark, near invisible smoke beneath. The two seemed to be quite happily co-existing, spinning gently about like a planet’s orbit.

 

Utterly lost, Graves looked to Karin for advice. She was staring at Credence’s magical core with both awe and scientific hunger.

 

“Conclusion?” Graves asked, looking back to Credence who was staring above himself in confusion.

 

“I…” Karin trailed off, gathering her thoughts. “I never thought I would see this. The Obscurus is undeniably a part of you now Credence, and yet it is not consuming you. You co-exist with it perfectly. I imagine that before you re-formed after the aurors that your core would have looked rather like the reverse of this, but the Obscurus saved you both from death. It is the source of your magic now. You are an Obscurial like no other.”

 

It hit Graves at this moment that Credence was utterly unique in the history of their people. No Obscurial had ever survived past puberty, and certainly no Obscurial had ever _bonded_ with their Obscurus and used it to save themselves from certain death. How this boy had the strength to live with it so long, allow it to rip him apart over and over again, and then _accept_ it without realising it…

 

Merlin, Credence was probably stronger than Graves himself.

 

“What does this mean?” Credence asked. Karin waved her wand, and the aura and core disappeared.

 

“It means that… well… you’re fine, for now,” Karin explained. “I’m not sure what will happen should you ever be placed into a dangerous situation where your Obscurus needs to take over. Since it is a part of you now, I get the feeling it will be more protective of you than revenge driven. It is something you could probably learn to control, in time. I also believe that you’ll be able to learn magic like the rest of us, should that be something you desire.”

 

Credence’s head snapped up from where he’d been looking at his aura-less palm.

 

“I can learn magic?” he asked, hope filling every single crevice of his voice.

 

“I don’t see why not,” Karin explained. “I’m sure Percival still has all his old Ilvermorny textbooks, as I’m sure Tina and Queenie Goldstein do too. You can start from the beginning and work your way up the year levels, and if you like I can see if I could find someone who knows more about Obscurials than we do. Perhaps Mr. Scamander?”

 

“I can get Tina to ask if he’s willing to come back to the country,” Graves said, “though I’d be willing to help you out, Credence, as much as I’d be able to.”

 

It seemed like it didn’t matter how many times he did it, Credence was still not used to any of Graves’ gestures of kindness. Like he still didn’t think he deserved it. Like it still surprised him when people didn’t want to treat him terribly.

 

“You would do that?” he asked.

 

Graves smiled, and cupped Credence’s cheek.

  
“Of course, my boy,” he said. Credence flushed at his words, and Karin smirked knowingly out of the corner of Graves’ vision.

 

“Now that that’s over, I have work to be getting back to,” Karin said, walking back around her desk to sit in her chair. “And I’m sure you both have places to be. Do let me know if you need anything else, and Credence, if you would like to learn more about your aura, I would be more than willing to help you. My door is open to you at any time.”

 

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, and Karin waved her hand dismissively.

 

“Call me Healer Michel if you have to,” she said. “Ma’am makes me feel old.”

 

“Yes, ma’am,” Graves teased as he lead Credence out of the room, and laughed at the middle finger that was flashed in his direction as he shut the office door behind them.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully that was worth the wait! Now that our boys are back together, they'll be healing, moving their relationship forward, and Credence will be learning magic and controlling his Obscurus :)


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